Same Hell, Different Demon
by specialsmiley1315
Summary: What's the secret to surviving hell on Earth? The chance that it doesn't last forever. Sequel to His Mystery Girl
1. Prologue

**Three months ago**

The steps are calculated, sure and silent. They know how to move in the woods, how to sneak up on their prey.

But, I know more.

The crisp olive green leaves camouflage me from the strangers. I know humans - know the silly errors they make when they think they are the hunter.

 _How many times have I done this now?_

Each time, the look of shock still draws a smile to my lips. The fear doesn't even have time to register in their eyes before they are lying at my feet, bleeding out. The thought alone has my veins humming in delight, craving that sweet moment between life and death that I get to hold so precariously in my grasp. It always ends the same, but I love waiting them out, making them think they have a chance before ripping that small shred of hope out of their hearts.

My fingers curl tight around the wrapped handle of the machete. The blade is razor sharp, never anything less. I like my slices clean, exact. Dull blades never leave pretty marks, and where's the fun in that?

Their steps grow closer, a boot crunching on a dead leaf, one of them brushing against the bark of a tree - that rough scratch nearly inaudible to the untrained ear. But, I'm more than human, and I hear and see all.

Hardly breathing, still as a rock on this branch, I wait. The Mark yearns, eager for the moment to arrive. It's been awhile since I've had some company.

 _Maybe we'll keep them around for a little bit?_

Toy with them, draw out the inevitable. There's no fun in slaughtering them and moving on.

Catching a quick glimpse through the cover of leaves, a grin tugs at my lips before my eyes slip shut. I count their steps, waiting for the perfect moment.

 _One, two, three._

I drop from the branch, shaking the canopy of green. Landing flawlessly, I attack - leaving my prey no chance to react.

A swift kick targets the back of the knees. One well-aimed fist directed at vulnerable kidneys, certain to leave the stranger pissing blood. They won't live long enough for that, though.

I bring the butt of the machete down towards the one on the ground, deciding he will be my plaything.

"Cas, now!"

Iron tight arms wrap around me. Pinned, I struggle, fighting against the hold. Kicking, thrashing, not holding back an inch, I try to escape, but it's useless. An inhuman snarl tears from me as I finally take in my prey.

The one on the ground stands, towering over me. His dark brown hair hangs down just above his shoulders with a shadow of a beard and soft hazel eyes. My attention shifts to the other, noting light brown hair, freckles, a strong jaw with scruff, and emerald green eyes.

Recognizing the persons, a fury of rage unfurls in my chest as I bare my teeth.

Plans come together, drafting up my escape, even as the two men gather themselves.

Sam Winchester's face twists in pain as he stands upright, an uneasy look in his gaze as he meets mine. Dean Winchester smirks, pride exuding from him as he gets to his feet, brushing off his pants.

A snarl tears out of my chest at the pleased look, fingers itching to carve the look off his face.

"Hey, Aria," he greets with ease, like old friends catching up. "We've got a lot to talk about."

* * *

 **A/N:** So...here's a long overdue thing.

I guess I'm sort of back? If any of you have been keeping up with my profile then you know I lost complete inspiration for these two fandoms. His Mystery Girl was three years in the making, and I don't know. I finished and was done. I had other stories to work on, original stuff that I had put off in order to finish that fic.

However, I felt bad. The way His Mystery Girl ended was never how I really wanted to end it. Admittedly, being my first ever fic, I'm happy with it but also not. There's a lot I want to go back and fix, and I tried for a while. Like I said, though, I lost inspiration. But, there were these few amazing people who inspired me more recently to come back to this story. I want to do these characters justice, give them the ending they deserved.

So, here's the sequel! I have about ten chapters already written, but they're rough. I'm going to try to post every two weeks. Depending on how much I get written, it might change to every week. For now, though, it's every two. Bear with me, please. I've got a lot on my plate in life so I can't promise, but I'm really going to try.

I want to thank RomanticBlondie, zeldadragondraco, IntoxicatedXMadness, Judging. All Day Every Day, angelicedg, and guests. You guys inspired me to come back. This story is for you. I hope I do the justice it deserves.


	2. A Reunion Long Overdue

**Daryl's POV**

 **Present**

"Hey. It's been awhile."

Conflicted and frozen to the spot, my heart and mind wage war. Elation swells in my chest, threatening to suffocate me. A thousand thoughts race through my head.

 _She's alive. Aria's back. How? Is this real?_

Yet even with the joy filling me up, there's a nasty blackness tainting the edges of my mind. Rage mixes with the exhilaration, dredging up deep-rooted pain that makes my fists clench at my sides.

 _She left._

That kick starts a chain reaction, extinguishing the light of happiness with frustration, loneliness, and grief. Emotions that were buried a year ago, dredged up with an ugly vengeance.

Those evergreen eyes watch me carefully, and I wonder if she can still read me. If after all this time she can recognize how broken she left me.

The impulsive side of me wants to close this short distance, hug her tight, and hold on for dear life. Too bad, though because I've learned again. Your heart is a traitor, and your mind is your friend.

 _"It's been a while?"_ I snarl, feet no longer frozen as I take a step forward. "That's all you got to say to me? It's been a while?"

Aria's gaze drops, lean arms coming up to wrap around her chest. "Yeah, pretty shitty greeting," she admits, sounding worn thin.

I scoff. "That's an understatement. You've been gone a whole damn year and you ain't got shit to say other than that?! How about sorry? You got any idea how fucking hard it's been without you? How fucking hard I tried to move on? No, give me something better than it's been a while."

My nostrils are flared, breaths sharp as I stare her down. She's still as beautiful as the day I met her, but she's changed in the last year.

A thinner, leaner body than I remember with hardly an ounce of fat on her petite frame. Those long dark locks are cropped short, brushing her shoulders now. It's wavier too, no longer weighed down by the length.

Sighing, Aria drops her arms to her sides. With shoulders slumped, her body screams defeat.

"You're right."

Her gaze locks with mine, and I clench my jaw. I hate seeing the honesty swimming in those depths. Hate that she caused this pain that twisted my heart.

"I'm sorry. I know that it's not enough and you deserve a lot more than two simple words, but it's all I got. I'm a piece of shit, Daryl. What I did was selfish and I'm sorry."

My throat burns, the threat of tears growing. She's right. "Sorry" ain't enough. It means nothing after everything that has happened, yet I want it to. I wish it could be the answer and I could hold her again. But the pain of this last year, nothing can make me forget that. Not right now.

"Do you want me to leave?"

I choke on my breath, her words causing my heart to stutter. It's reflex, the simple word torn from my lungs in a fierce growl.

"No."

Aria nods, chewing on her lip. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking sure, Aria!" The incredulous question sets me off, appalled by the thought. "I've wanted this for a fucking year. You think I want you to go?!"

"I don't know what you want, Daryl," she admits with defeat.

Rubbing her temples she sits back on the bar stool. A heavy breath leaves her and she glances behind her at Sam and Dean.

Walking through that door, I only saw her. Now, I take the two brothers in.

Nothing has changed in the months they've been gone. Both look the same dressed in their usual attire of ragged flannel and jeans. A little worse for wear, I'd say if the dark bags under their eyes are any indication of the long journey they've been on.

The two meet Aria's pleading gaze but remain blank faced, indifferent to the battle between us.

Realizing she's alone in this, Aria bows her head, standing up once again.

"Look, I know me being back isn't easy. You're pissed and you have every right to be. You said you don't want me to leave-"

"I don't," I interrupt, knowing that it's the last thing I want.

Despite, how hurt I am I don't want her to go again. She's back, and I'd rather be pissed and have her back than have her gone.

My words have no impact as Aria plows on, ordering. "Just think about it, all right?" I start to protest, but she stops me. "I'll be on the back porch. When you're ready, come and get me."

With that, she leaves, heading down the hallway to the back door. I bite my tongue, thinking over her words. Truth is, though, I ain't got to debate this. A whole year I've wished for this. I ain't letting it slip by without a fight.

Following her, I reach the door right before it shuts. It swings open as I push through, startling Aria.

"Daryl-"

"There ain't anything for me to think about, Aria." I tower over her, a fire of resolution burning in my chest. "I didn't want you to leave the first time. The hell makes you think I want you to leave again?"

Hesitating, she bites her lip, looking away from me. There's hardly any space between us. She can't escape and the charged energy in the air only adds to that.

"I just-"

"What?"

"I want to give you a choice!" Aria explodes, reminding me why the King of Hell nicknamed her firecracker.

With muscles coiled tight, forest eyes aflame, she's ready to go twelve rounds right here on the spot. Yet, as quickly as the anger rolled through her, it's gone. She sags back against the railing, shaking her head with a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped."

Confusion has my eyebrows drawing together. It ain't her reaction so much as her admission that has me reeling for a moment. Aria blows up. She's impulsive, quick to judge. Why she apologized, I don't understand. My anger simmers and I wait, letting her take a moment.

"I didn't give you a choice when I left," she admits, her words a soft whisper, ghosting with a sea of regret. Her arms crossed over her chest, gaze trained over my shoulder instead of meeting my stare.

"So, let me do this now, all right? I don't have any right to walk back into your life after what I did. If you want me to go, I'll go. If you want me to stay, I'll stay."

Dropping her head, she moves, trying to slip around me to escape back into the house.

I catch her by her arm. Fire licks its way from the tips of my fingers up and into my chest at the contact. Evergreen eyes meet my ocean ones, searching in the silence drifting between us.

It pisses me off to see the uncertainty in those eyes. That's how I'm supposed to feel, not her. She is the one who always runs. Not me. I'm always fucking left behind to pick up the pieces. I want her to stay. Stop running in the other direction because I can't chase her anymore. There ain't much left in me to fight.

"Stay."

The word falls from my lips with ease, and I tighten my grip around her bicep, an unconscious action in fear that she will run. There's another beat of silence, eyes locked before Aria looks down once more.

"Okay."

An inaudible breath rushes from me. I let her go and put some space between us — those few steps feeling like an ocean. It's needed, though. All of this — the situation and her, in general, overwhelms me.

This ain't how I pictured this, but I also gave up thinking she would ever come back a long time ago.

 _You didn't completely give up._

I finger the chain around my neck, the ring resting over my heart. Looking up from the ground, I find Aria staring at me, her attention on my fingers that still trace the chain. She catches me watching and looks away, arms crossed over her chest as she chews on her lip.

 _God, this is so fucked_.

"Does anybody else know?" I ask after another stretch of silence.

It's strained the air between the two of us. Funny how sometimes our expectations never live up to the real thing.

Confusion lines her features, eyebrows cinched. "That I'm back?"

I nod and Aria shakes her head, explaining reluctantly. "I thought it would be better to see you first before getting everyone's hopes up."

Again, anger burns in my chest. How can she believe that I wouldn't want her back?

"That's stupid," I retort.

She shrugs her shoulders, forcing a bleak grin. "What can I say? I don't think very highly of myself."

 _I did._

We stare each other down. Neither sure how to go on with this conversation. We're strangers now, both uncertain how to navigate the seas separating us.

Aria heaves a deep breath, looking away as she takes in the backyard. She holds herself like she will fall apart without her own tight grip.

"It's impressive what you've guys built here. You should be proud of yourselves."

I chew on the inside of my cheek, nodding. This is small talk, and I hate it. It ain't what we do. Yet, I can't get my tongue to spit out the storm of thoughts brewing in my head.

The door opens, an inaudible sigh of relief slipping from me. Dean stands there, features relaxed as that smug grin plays on his lips.

"Great, you're still here. How fucked am I if I eat that apple pie Carol's got sitting on the counter?"

I snort, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. Leave Dean's obsession with pie to be my saving grace from an awkward reunion with the girl I love.

"It's your funeral, man."

His grin grows wider. "Worth it."

Rolling my eyes, I follow the eldest brother back into the home, glancing over my shoulder before I shut the door. Aria hasn't moved. I chew on my lip unsure what to say.

 _Don't be such a pussy, Darylina. Just fucking say what's on your mind._

"You gonna come with?"

Those evergreen eyes snap to my ocean ones, surprised that I'm still waiting for her. She takes one last look at the corrugated steel wall that lines the backyard. A surge of panic makes my stomach knot up.

 _Is she thinking about leaving? Was she telling me the truth when she said I get a choice?_

After a brief moment, Aria releases a long breath. Hesitation sits heavy on her shoulders, weighing them down. Yet, she still nods, turning to follow me.

Even with all the pain and confliction, I can't help the small grin that tugs at my lips. It's a small win after a year of losses, and I let myself soak in it for the moment because now I know she's staying. The hard part now is figuring out if I can let her back in.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey! So, here's the proper reunion that took a year and some months for me to deliver to you. Answers are coming soon to what happened during that year for Aria and it's not pretty.**

 **Chapters are going to stay about this size for the duration of this story. It's easier for me to handle and allows me to update faster.**

 **Let me know what you think!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Where The Hell Have You Been

Night came quick, dousing the community in darkness. It's that time of year again where the days grow shorter and the nights longer. Although, I'll argue that today will never end.

Between coming home from my morning hunt and finding Aria, talking, and then waiting for the others to gather, it feels like days compared to hours. The group sits inside unaware of what awaits them. For them, it's any typical night. Carol will make dinner, everyone will talk about their day, dishes will be done, and then everyone will go their own way for the rest of the night.

Drawing in a deep breath, I follow the Winchesters up the porch steps, Aria behind me.

Anxiety clouds my head, an endless sea of questions consuming my thoughts. Every time I tried to voice them, though, the brothers shot me down. Though, to be honest, most of my thoughts have revolved around the fact that Aria is back, and not exactly how she got back. Either way, the sooner this gets over with, the quicker I can sort through the shit going on in my head.

I step through the threshold of the house, keeping to the shadows as the brothers head straight for the living room. The group's easy voices fill the large home, talking about the day's events per usual.

The scratch of silverware and the scent of rabbit stew let me know they've already started dinner. I chew at the worn cuticles of my thumb as Aria and I hang back in the entrance of the home, letting Sam and Dean address the group first.

A split second of silence rings out before cheers and curses are hollered at the two brothers. I fight to hide my smirk as I listen to Tara give Dean an earful.

They deserve the lashing too. The guys were supposed to be back some time ago, and long before that we lost radio contact. None of us knew what happened, whether they had finally bit the bullet or had done the impossible.

Turns out the Winchesters are pretty good at making the impossible a possibility.

"Where's Daryl?" Rosita asks and I know that's my cue.

Glancing to my left, I note the pale color of Aria's cheeks and the slight tremble of her hands. I bite my lip, wanting to reassure her, but I ain't got a clue how the others will react to seeing her back.

So, I give her a moment, knowing she'll be in right behind me, and make my way into the room. Warm smiles greet me, Rosita teasing as she takes a bite of stew.

"Figured you weren't that far. I can smell the man on you a mile away."

I roll my eyes and lean back against the wall beside Sam and Dean. My gaze travels over each individual wondering how tonight will alter our lives. We've all changed so much in this last year and I know Aria has too. Spending the afternoon with her made me realize that the woman I knew is not the same that left. Then again, the Aria I met that day in the woods is a distant memory.

Everyone sits in their usual places - Rosita, Tara, and Denise at the dining room table with Eugene and Morgan. Sasha and Abraham share the couch, the Sergeant's arm slung around her shoulders keeping her close to his side.

I ain't sure what happened, but not long after we met the Hilltop, Abraham moved on from Rosita to Sasha. The others worried about a rift in the group, and there was for a while. At some point though, the three worked it out and moved passed it. Plus they ain't the only new budding relationship either.

A smile paints my face watching Michonne comb her fingers through Judith's growing curls. Rick's hand rests on the small of her back as he listens to Carl talk about some new comic book find he had on his run today.

Maggie and Glenn are settled beside the Grimes family with Carol, whose busy helping the new mother with the baby boy, Hershel. He's got his father's dark eyes but his mother's face. Even at five months, Hershel already has his own personality; one that I know is going to result in a little Hell Raiser. Maggie hates the nickname, but Glenn loves it. Actually, she's the only one who gives me any shit when I use it. Everybody else seems to get a free pass. It just makes me smirk. The kids of this new world are gonna live up to these nicknames. I'll make sure of it.

"So, what the hell took you two so damn long?" Tara asks, drawing all the attention back to the brothers and where they've been missing.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, glancing at Sam for help. Neither gets to say a word, though, the help they need coming in a different form. I catch movement on my left, tensing as all eyes shift to the entrance.

Aria enters with hesitation, her evergreen gaze down, arms coiled tightly around her chest. Slowly, her head lifts and her eyes meet the awestruck ones of the group.

"Fuck me," Abraham's gasped words ringing in the sudden silence.

Nobody moves, frozen in shock at the sight before them. Slacked jawed, they stare.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Aria waves and forces a tiny grin. "Hey."

With the pause button clicked, time sits suspended. Thoughts grind to a halt, brains trying to process the image in front of them. It's comical, except the dragging silence has anxiety curling around my lungs with apprehension.

The moment shatters as Carl stands, crossing the room in a few short strides before connecting his fist with Aria's face. That snaps everybody out of the daze, the room erupting in disapproving and panicked shouts as Aria stumbles back.

Sam and Dean start to move towards her while I jump to Carl's side, yanking him back. My eyes never leave Aria who works her jaw, straightening to her full height. The brothers stop their approach when she holds up a hand, eyeing her as she recovers. Rick hangs behind me, a hand resting protectively on his son's shoulder.

Her gaze stays lowered, rubbing her jaw with a pained wince before sucking in a sharp breath. Those evergreen eyes lock with Carl, a storm of emotions too intense to comprehend brewing in their depths.

"All right," her worn voice accepting. "I deserved that."

Carl bites his lip white before pushing me aside to lunge at her again. This time Aria tenses, ready for the hit. Instead, his arms wrap around her, squeezing her with everything he has.

Not a little boy anymore, Carl stands taller than Aria by an inch or two. The baby fat now replaced with muscle and the beginning of facial hair. He looks every bit the mature survivor that made it in this world.

The boy's hands fist in the back of her shirt with his face tucked into her neck. Nobody acknowledges the shudder of his shoulders or the shaky breaths. Aria, on the other hand, stands stock still in confusion for a moment, like she never expected a hug and only rejection. It's short-lived before she too hugs Carl back in fervor, hiding a relieved smile in the mop of hair hastily tied in a ponytail.

Any apprehension dies with the reciprocation, tension bleeding out of the group's bodies as tears pool in their gazes.

They hug for another few seconds before Carl pulls away, hands gripping her shoulders. A mess of emotions fight for control on his youthful face, but anger wins out.

"Where the hell have you been?!"

Dropping her head, Aria hides her face, nerves tightening relaxed muscles. The room waits with eagerness to hear her answer. My heart pounds in my chest at the prospect of finally getting some damn answers. Sooner or later, the truth will come out.

"I...it's-I don't...it's just." She stumbles over her words, a faint tremble in her hands that hang at her sides.

"It's complicated and we'll explain it soon," Sam interrupts, coming to her rescue. His words leave no room for debate, and Carl steps away with a silent sigh.

"The real question is whether or not she's still Jekyll and Hyde?" Abraham asks, effectively breaking the short silence.

My gaze cuts to her right arm, knowing I won't see anything. Long sleeves cover her arms, perpetually tugged down over her hands all day whenever she got anxious.

With a wan grin, Aria answers, trying for a bit of humor. "Sorry to disappoint, Sarge, but there won't be any surprise throw downs anytime soon."

Uncertainty clings to the walls, not believing the meaning behind the joking answer. Carol's silvery voice cuts through the silence - hesitant, yet holding all the hope in the world.

"The Mark is gone?"

Aria nods before rolling up her sleeve to reveal bare skin of her right forearm, quelling the lingering doubt. Not a hint of the hideous cursed Mark shows. A weight lifts from the room, the air easier to breathe. With relief, my eyes burn with tears. I force them back, though, knowing that whatever they did to make this possible will cost us.

Removing that monstrosity was supposed to be impossible, but the Winchesters managed. Yet, what I've learned from their past, stuff like this never comes without a load of bad shit.

"Well, shave me smooth and rub me with baby oil, you boys fucking did it!"

I shake my head at Abraham's words, the group groaning or snorting in amusement. Whenever he opens his mouth, I never know if I'm gonna cringe or laugh.

Aria drops her eyes to the floor, swallowing hard. Nobody else catches the small change, but I do because I haven't been able to take my eyes off her since this afternoon.

I'm terrified that this is all a damn dream. This, Aria back and cured of the Mark, it's too good to be true. After a year of her missing, it can't be this simple of a fix.

"Where's Castiel?" Maggie asks, bouncing Hershel on her lap.

"We ran into some angels on the way back. He'll be back in a couple of weeks, maybe longer," Dean explains, eyeing the bowls of food around. "I'm gonna get some grub," he grins, leaving the room but not before squeezing Aria's arm subtly in support.

The group stares like she's a ghost. Silence takes over again, awkward, and Aria shifts her weight from foot to foot. Her attention stays glued to the dark hardwood floor.

Who she is now, it's a stark contrast from the woman I remember. Her confidence doesn't exist. Shoulders aren't pulled back instead they are curled inwards, hiding away. She's shy, her once unwavering words now unsure.

Then with the flip of a switch, she's grinning, eyeing Carl. "So, is anybody gonna tell me what you've been feeding this kid?"

Her crafted facade doesn't fool anyone, but they play along. Soft laughs ease some of the awkward air and Aria goes on, teasing.

"Seriously, have they been showering you with Miracle Grow or something?"

"No," Carl laughs and she shakes her head, playfully shoving him.

"Liar," she jokes.

Evergreen eyes trace over the group slowly, noting the changes that come with a year of absence.

Her shifting attention stops on the Rhee family, a grin splitting her face. My heart stutters at the sight, longing making those fissures ache. Baby Hershel sits in Maggie's lap, looking around with wide-eyed fascination. The three of them are so happy with the permanent smile on Glenn's lips and the adoring love they both share when they look at their boy. It's what we all fought so hard for.

"I've missed a lot," she murmurs, staring at the newborn child. There's longing in her words and my heart clenches.

 _You ain't got a clue, darling._

Glenn gets up, grinning wide as he bends down and takes his son into his arms before approaching her without hesitation. Actually, nobody seems to be afraid anymore except for Aria. Tension keeps her on edge, shoulders tight and hands balled up at her sides.

Without warning, Glenn pulls her into a hug, squeezing tight as he whispers a few quiet words. I can't see his face, but I can see Aria. Those mauve lips curl up into a blinding smile. Too bad it ain't real because that smile doesn't reach her haunted eyes.

Hershel squirms in Glenn's hold, babbling nonsense. That garners a genuine reaction out of her, a tenderness easing her anxious features.

"Hey, buddy, this is your aunt Aria," the new father introduces, trying to get his son to cooperate. Those big brown eyes land on Aria for a moment, halting to take in the stranger before he continues struggling in Glenn's grasp.

Aria laughs, shaking her head. "Looks like a little Hell Raiser to me."

"Seriously!?" Maggie snaps, the rest of the group roaring with laughter.

I snort, trying to hide my laugh, but it's useless. Not once did I mention the baby to Aria. She wanted to surprise the others and I figured I should let them surprise her. After all, it's their stories to share, not mine.

"What?" Aria asks, utterly confused about what is so funny.

Maggie continues shaking her head in exasperation, explaining. "Daryl decided our child needed a nickname. So he's been calling Hershel, 'Hell Raiser' ever since he was born. Now you are too!"

Evergreen eyes meet my ocean blue, the faintest hint of pink dusting her cheeks before we both drop our gaze. My teeth sink into my bottom lip in frustration. Why do things have to be so damn complicated?

"Sorry," she apologizes, but Glenn brushes her off, reassuring her.

"Don't worry about it. Everybody here loves it except, Maggie."

Dean wanders back into the room with two bowls of stew. He heads toward his brother beside me, handing the younger his serving.

"Dean, I've got a question for you," Carol starts, taking the attention away from Aria for a moment.

He slurps up his food, nodding.

"You wouldn't happen to know where my apple pie went, would you?"

I cover my mouth, trying to hide my grin as my words from earlier this afternoon come back. Without missing a beat, Dean points his spoon at Aria.

"She ate it."

Appalled, she stares wide-eyed at the brother, garnering a deep laugh from both Sam and I. The statement is complete bullshit, and not a single person in the room buys it. Especially Carol.

"Don't lie to me, Winchester. Aria might have been gone for a while but I know she's not the one who scarfed it down."

Dean grins, the guilt written all over his face. "I plead the fifth, Carol."

The group shakes their heads, laughing at the familiar scene. Prior to the two leaving, this was a typical night with the constant ribbing of each other. Having this back feels good despite the questions burning in the back of my mind.

"Better lawyer up then, Dean."

"Already did."

"Dude, I'm not defending you. I told you not to." Sam fires back, ratting his brother out. Carol smirks in pride while the rest of us chuckle at the two brothers now arguing. Although, the bickering doesn't last long as Rosita's voice rings out over them.

"Sorry to be the buzzkill here, but can we get back to what the hell is going on? I mean no offense, Aria, I'm happy as hell to see you, but a year ago you were a psycho killer and now what? You're all better? I mean do you have any idea the hell we went through when you left? The shit Daryl and the guys suffered?"

The impending silence weighs like a brewing storm. It crackles, setting the room on edge as wandering eyes land on Aria and me.

Their gazes probe with unspoken questions, but I remain stone faced. Aria stares at the ground again, one arm hugging her chest. But those searching looks won't get shit. I ain't got anything to say. Not here in front of everyone, that's for sure.

Sam sets his bowl down clearing his throat, but Aria speaks up. "No, I don't know. And even if I say sorry, I know that's not going to make up for how badly I hurt some of you." Words wavering, throat bobbing with a tight swallow, she continues. "I'm not asking you guys to give me a free pass and just accept me with open arms. How we got rid of the Mark is a long and complicated story-"

"One that we'll explain tomorrow," Dean interrupts, words firm and unyielding. Clearly, there's no room for debate on that topic with the intensity of the older brother's tone.

I catch Rick's stare from across the room. A storm brews there, wondering just like me. The guys have been tight-lipped about the Mark ever since they showed up. It's got me anxious.

 _What the hell did they do?_

Rick sighs, standing up from his spot beside Michonne. "All right. Then tomorrow first thing we'll meet. Things have changed Aria. I hate to say it but we don't know you anymore."

"I know, Rick. I wouldn't trust me either. A lot can happen in a year," she admits, nothing but understanding.

He runs a hand over his trimmed beard, deep in thought before agreeing. "Yeah, it can. Look, typically we keep newcomers in-"

"Ain't no reason for her to stay in the cells, man. She ain't a threat and she ain't going to run. Let her take a couch. Winchesters and I will hear if she tries to go anywhere." I defend straight away, cutting off Rick's suggestion.

Putting her in the rooms Morgan built has my stomach turning inside out. It ain't right. I see where Rick is coming from, but no matter what, Aria is one of us. She ain't being treated any less.

Those ice blue eyes cut to me, surprised by my reaction. I nod in reassurance to the question in his gaze. After everything, Rick doesn't trust easily. Me neither, but when it comes to Aria, even after everything, my heart rules over my brain.

"I don't…" Aria trails off as I fix her with a glare, halting the rest of her speech.

"You telling me you'd rather sleep on a straw mattress instead of a couch? What's the best you had outside those walls, huh? A tree? Take the damn couch, woman."

She relents, shoulders drooping, "Okay."

My jaw clenches, hating how accepting she is of everything. Where's the damn fire in her that I loved so much? It's the final straw, too many questions in my head to handle anymore. I huff, leaving the room.

"See ya'll in the morning."

Heading to my room, I shut the door behind me before flopping down on the mattress. The room consumed by darkness, and the blankets cool beneath me, a long breath rushes from me before my fingers automatically play with the wedding band around my neck.

I shut my eyes and grip the ring tight. My life just got turned upside down all over again. This is what I've wanted. I've wanted Aria back for so damn long. Now she's here and I ain't got a clue what to do now.

 _So much for happy endings._

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hey! Sorry for the late update. Honestly, the time just slipped away from me. I didn't even realize a month had passed since the last update. My bad! Anyway, here is the new chapter. Wonder what those three are so tight-lipped about, huh? :) Answers are coming soon, my friends.**

 **Reviews are wonderful if you can. Thanks and see you soon with another update!**


	4. Adventure Turned Disaster

**Aria's POV**

 _The handle of the knife slips in my grip._

 _Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

 _Thick crimson trickles from my hands with each splatter staining the concrete._

 _"W-why?" croaks the faceless individual._

 _I almost feel bad - the feeling somewhere in the depths of my soul making an irritating presence. Her features are blurred, mangled and smeared in her own blood. Dripping from my hands, the red continues to fall, a steady metronome for the little time she has left in this hell._

 _Releasing a breath, I wipe the blood off on my jeans. The curl of my lips is natural — a predatory grin that makes the woman whimper._

" _Because I can."_

I jolt awake, hand shooting to my hip with my fingers already curling around the handle of the blade there.

"Easy, Aria, easy, it's just me," Dean soothes, my mind still working to wake up.

I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head, and realize that there's a fierce grip on my right wrist. Opening them, I lock eyes with Dean to find the tip of my knife poised for the steady pulse in his neck. Grin crooked, he loosens his grip as I drop my hand.

"You shouldn't be smiling at someone who holds a knife to your throat," my words blunt. I sheath my knife and sit up.

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "Get ready. We're going out."

My nose wrinkles in confusion. "Rick said he wanted to talk to me first." I stand, twisting my back with a couple of loud pops as the joints crack.

Dean waves my words off before heading to the front door. He grabs two handguns, tucking one into the gun holster on his thigh and holding the other out to me.

Hesitation sits heavy in my gut. Rick made it quite clear that I was supposed to see him first thing. Everyone seemed welcoming last night, but I know that they're still wary. It's in the subtle glances. The way they ever so slightly shift away from me when they pass. I can't blame them. They shouldn't trust me. I still don't know why Sam and Dean do.

"Aria."

I cross an arm over my chest before protesting. "I need to talk to Rick, Dean."

"You can talk to him when we get back from my patrol. Aria, I know you're dying to get out of this house. So, let's go," the oldest Winchester persuades with a gruff authority.

He's right and I chew on my lip, staring at the proffered weapon. I've been anxious since we drove through the gates yesterday, jumpy sitting inside this house with so many memories.

"Fine," I succumb, taking the weapon in hand.

* * *

Alexandria has changed in the last year. The place has expanded with a whole new addition and farming and homes. It's amazing how much it has flourished when thinking of all the hell these people first endured. Walking the streets with the sun barely up, I take it all in.

New faces move about in the early dawn. Weapons are strapped to their thighs, slung across shoulders. Smiles are shared but there is a shadow to it, one that speaks of nightmares of the past. The people are carefree but with an edge of weariness in their shoulders.

I breathe in deep, relishing in the warm summer air. Even that smells different now than it did a year ago. It's sharper, definite, and worn - reminding me of old leather that has battered years of wear and tear but holds strong nonetheless.

Dean leads and I follow. His plaid shirt fits tight across his broad shoulders with threads worn thin in the elbows of the rolled up sleeves. A handgun sits nestled in a black thigh holster, a new look for the hunter. In all the years I've known Dean Winchester, there are only one or two instances in which I have seen him wear a holster.

 _Yet, another thing that has changed in your absence._

The gates of Alexandria stand in front of us. There's a guard tower now, other posts littered around the community. I stay behind a step while Dean has a quick word with the guard at the gate. She casts me a weary look and I rack my mind, wondering if she was around when I was still here. I shift on my feet, looking away from the guard as I let my short hair fall into my face.

My foot taps against the pavement, impatient. At the same time, my heart thuds hard and fast in my chest, anxiety taking root. I squeeze my eyes shut, draw in a quiet gasped breath, and then the gate roles open.

"Don't forget about the delivery today." The guard reminds Dean as he walks past the secured walls.

"I won't. We're going to do a perimeter check and then secure the surroundings a mile out," the hunter responds. He receives a nod and then the gate slides closed behind us.

Abandoned vehicles line the road into Alexandria, a stark difference to the open one that I originally arrived on. Sharp spears protrude from the vehicles, a couple of walkers impaled on them. They're decaying hands claw at the rooftops, jaws moving languidly as they make throaty, drawn out groans.

Dean nudges my shoulder, nodding his head to the left. "We'll start this way. Check the walls for any abnormal signs. After that, we move out into the surrounding woods."

"Lead the way." He grins, taking lead, and I follow.

The woods are alive with critters scurrying through the trees. Insects buzz, creating a steady background hum that is both reassuring and annoying. Sunlight trickles through the dense canopy of leaves, casting dark shadows in the thick of the woods surrounding the wall.

I don't stare into them for too long, glancing every so often to watch out for threats. It's more of a distracted look. The truth is nature will warn its children of danger. You only have to learn to speak the language and then you can walk blindly amongst the beauty of the world.

Forcing my attention off of the woods, I take in the corrugated steel walls. Nothing has changed in the year I've been gone. The barbed wire I lined the tops with remains in place. Even the exposed support beams are still protected with the sharp wire. Most of the upgrades to the wall were done on the inside. Protective sigils mark the walls inside the community along with extra support beams. There is also a border of iron at the base of the wall, encircling every inch of Alexandria.

A soft grin tugs at my lips, pride swelling in my chest.

The two of us make it around the perimeter with no incidence. After a quick water break, courtesy of a flask of water Dean brought, we start the mile-long trek out along the perimeter of Alexandria.

Silence continues between us, another new concept. There's no awkwardness or strain to the quiet. It just exists. Yet, despite the peacefulness, it's fragile, ready to fall to pieces at the slightest nudge - which has nothing to do with Dean.

I'm the cracked glass, the one that will shatter at a second's notice. The idea is foreign like most things nowadays. Like a baby colt struggling to understand the concept of legs, I'm awkward and unsteady.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked about the changes," Dean comments, his gravel thick voice disturbing the natural quiet of the woods.

We walk side by side, shoulders brushing every once in a while. I stare off into the distance, scanning for a walker or a larger threat.

"What's there to ask? You did what was necessary in order to protect what was yours. It's smart, efficient, and I'm assuming effective by the lack of disturbance of earth and damage to the wall."

Dean hums, gun in hand. The grip is tight enough to be prepared but loose enough to show that the hunter is not on edge. My grip, however, is painful. I force my fingers to relax, an ache starting in the joints.

"You haven't asked about much of anything since you've been back."

"I didn't expect to come back," I murmur, that void in the pit of my stomach giving a dull pang.

"So?" The hunter questions, ignoring my heavy words. "Aren't you curious as to what all changed?"

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I decided not to answer.

Dean sighs. "I'm not pushing you to talk, Aria."

"I know."

Silence fills the space between us, heavy with emotions that I don't know how to deal with. I ignore it, focusing on the forest around me as we continue our patrol.

We're close to a mile out now with the sun up in the sky. No more of the dusky dawn colors. Now it's a crisp blue and soft white clouds.

The heat has grown too. Beads of sweat gather at the lining of my hair, threatening to drip down my face. Even the forest seems to be more awake now. The drowning of insects crying and birds chirping are livelier.

Spending a year living in the woods, my body became attuned to the natural warnings nature gives. It's subtle, not a noise or scent. No, instead it's a minute change in the atmosphere — a sudden weight to the air filling my lungs and caressing my skin.

I pause in my step, Dean halting too. His emerald gaze weighs on me with questions. Ignoring him, I let instinct drive my every move now.

With no reason, I head west, my gut screaming that the source of this change is there. My steps are calculated, silent against the soft earth of the forest. The gun in my hand remains ready with the safety unlocked and my finger resting on the trigger. It goes against my training, but this world requires you to shoot first. Hesitation will get you killed.

There're voices, a soft whispering of them. I lock eyes with Dean, pointing a finger towards the right. He nods, hands tightening their hold on his pistol before moving. Splitting up gives us an advantage over whoever these people are. It's two against an unknown number, a feat that I don't mind taking on my own. However, my life isn't the only one on the line again.

The idea of protecting others again is foreign, setting me on edge as I pick my way through the forest — watching for any surprise encounters. Just because I heard them doesn't mean they didn't hear us first.

I take cover behind a thick tree trunk, crouched down low as I peer around it to get a visual. One man, young and dressed in patched jeans and a ragged long-sleeved beige shirt, walking between the trees. He has a handgun, grip loose but prepared. I watch him trudge through the forest, quiet but not as quiet as he should be. Mumbled words fill the silence as he grows closer, mind preoccupied even though he keeps a watchful gaze on his surroundings.

Clicking the safety off, I shove the gun in the back of my jeans.

Through the thinning forest I can make out a group of people. Four people armed with rifles and handguns stand around a car and a truck, which has a load of supplies in the back. I can't hear what the four are talking about, but they crowd around something. Firing my gun will expose me and put me at a disadvantage.

My attention flickers back to the lone guy who grows closer to my position. I scour the surrounding area quickly for a sign of Dean but don't find him.

 _Shit._

Indecision claws at my mind. It makes my stomach sour and chest tight. I know what _I would do._ I know what _I want to do._ The real question _is should I do that? Do I have to?_

A sharp snap of a small branch yanks me from my mind. Instinct takes over and I'm moving before I know it.

The guy was right on top of me. I shoot up from my crouched position, eyes on the gun, as I grip his wrist in one hand, the other gripping the barrel of the gun. I twist, dislodging the weapon, throwing an elbow at the stranger's face. A crunch resounds in the quiet, a muffled yelp escaping him as he stumbles. I empty the chamber and the magazine in seconds, tossing the gun aside as I advance.

The knife at my hip makes its way into my hand. I aim for a jab at the man that he dodges. A trail of blood trickle down his lips, breaths gasping as a result of most likely a broken nose. I block the sloppy punch, sweeping my leg behind his and tripping him. He falls to the dry earth with a grunt and I follow. My knife comes down, aimed at his heart.

Last second, the man recovers, eyes wide with fear and desperation and an emotion that I've seen all too much in my recent past. It turns my gut sour, my grip faltering in the stalemate.

His arms tremble, hand tight around my wrist as he huffs, desperate to keep my knife from driving down into his heart. I grit my teeth, avoiding looking at the man's space dark eyes.

My slip up gives him the upper hand to push my arms away as he twists his body to throw me off. I hit the ground, my fingers still curled around the hilt of my knife. The stranger lunges and collides me with as we roll, limbs grappling as we struggle.

Dirt clings to my skin, thick on my tongue as I find myself face first in the dirt. I drive an elbow back, catching the man again in the face. My muscles burn, chest heaving, and I channel it, letting my mind go blank so that I can finish this fight.

"Don't move!"

There's a flurry of movement behind me, the distinct clink of bullets lodging into their chambers, waiting to riddle me. A muddle of voices mesh together as the group approaches, a set of four footsteps, I count. But that's not everybody I realize, hearing quickened steps approaching.

I keep my gaze narrowed on the stranger. He's on his hands and knees, spitting blood before he wipes the back of his hand across his nose. One of the people moves in my periphery, a woman with football pads protecting her chest and a bow and arrow slung along her back.

"Wait! She's with me!" Dean's voice pierces the hum of heated conversation behind me.

In the distance, there's the roar of a bike and a truck. My stomach clenches tight, eyes slipping closed because I know the hum of that engine.

"Dean," a measured, friendly voice greets. "Glad to see you're back."

There must be a silent exchange, but all I can focus on is the sudden cut of that engine and the slamming of car doors.

"Jesus!"

My eyebrows draw together, the name familiar. However, I don't get to focus on it because that's Rick's voice and his running steps.

A hand lands on my shoulder, my body reacting before I can stop it. I grab the wrist but there's a fierce grip locking around my own and I open my eyes to see emerald ones. Dean manages a forced grin, weariness lining his face.

I drop his gaze, staring at my dirt stained jeans as I release his wrist. He squeezes my shoulder, murmuring low enough for my ears. "I'll deal with Rick. This was my fault, all right?"

There's a protest on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. What's the point of arguing? Rick told me last night that he wanted to talk to me. I knew I shouldn't have left.

"Dean? What-" Rick's words cut off with a furious huff. I don't have to look at the man to know that his ice blue eyes are taking in the injured stranger and me. Put the two together and there's not much I can dispute. Not that I'm going to. I attacked first.

A breath escapes Dean as he stands, his hand falling away from my shoulder. I can still feel the guns of the others trained at my head, feel penetrating gazes drilling holes into my skull. One set in particular that even a year later I can't forget.

"Dean says she's with you." Jesus, the guy with the friendly voice, explains.

"She is," Rick affirms. Tension hangs in the air, electrifying it. In my periphery, I note the clenched hands of Dean, knowing that there is a stare down happening between the two.

"Look," Jesus starts, placating. "Let's get the car fixed and deal with this once we arrive at Alexandria. Danny, you okay?"

"She broke my nose," Danny, the stranger I attacked, answers. His words are nasally, but the edge of heat is not lost. "But I'll be fine."

"Rick? Dean?"

The silence is suffocating, the guns aimed at me setting my hairs on end, and that one heated glare making me question whether the Gates of Hell have opened up beneath me.

"Daryl, let's see what's happening with that engine. Danny, you can come with us back to Alexandria. Denise can take a look at that nose. The rest of you, we'll meet you back at Alexandria. Use the walkies if anything else comes up."

The others move at Rick's orders, the tension dissipating. I keep my gaze on the ground, watching the feet that pass by. Once there's a bit of distance, that charge hangs in the air again.

"We're going back now. Daryl and the others will handle the delivery. The rest of us are going to talk like we were supposed to." Rick's words are ground out, laced with a raging fury.

"Whatever you say, Grimes."

A pause and then Rick's steps sound, growing softer as he gets farther away. Dean's hands unclench finally.

"Come on, Aria. Let's go." He offers a hand, but I ignore it. Without a word, I grab the knife that I dropped and sheath it at my hip. My muscles protest while aches bloom up my arms and across my torso.

Dean's calloused hand grips my wrist, my name falling from his lips in a worried plea. "Aria?"

But I can't. My head is too full. That anxiety unfurls in my chest, its poisonous tendrils slithering through my veins. I'm not prepared for this. There's no choice, though. It's time to face the final judgment.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey! A new update that's on time! First off, thank you to everyone who is reading and all those who comment, follow, and favorite. You all rock!**

 **So, Aria didn't do what she was supposed to. What's new? Dean is a terrible influence too, pushing her to come with him. Now she's in big trouble. Kinda. Sort of.**

 **I hope you're all excited for the next chapter because that's when we're going to start digging into the lost year. I wonder what our dear friend has been up to...**


	5. Confrontation

They make me wait out back in the garden of Deanna's house - except it's not Deanna's anymore. At least, that's what Dean mentioned as we drove back into Alexandria.

I remember sitting out here before. The first time I ever stepped foot into this community. Not much has changed, I note. Brick on the ground, trees bloomed in soft greens, flowers, and plants thriving in their flower pots.

Yelling sounds from inside and a heavy breath escapes me as I rest my arms on my knees. The people of Alexandria walk by on the street, cheerful conversations filling the warm air.

A little over a year later and I still feel the same as I did the first day I set foot here.

Nerves have my muscles clenched, stomach knotted, and breaths tight. I dig my fingers into the fresh bruises blossoming over my sun-kissed skin.

My gaze wanders to the back door. The curtains are shut, shadows dancing behind them. I know what has to happen. It's been obvious from the moment the others laid eyes on me, the moment the Winchesters and Cas found me. They want an answer to the question everyone's dying to know.

 _What did I do during this last year?_

A shiver runs down my spine and I curl more into myself. Anxiety's vicious tendrils have sunk its fangs deep into my veins, poisoning me with its doubts and fears. I squeeze my hands into fists; hold it and then release. I repeat the motion, waiting for the tautly stretched skin to turn white before releasing. There's a horrifying storm brewing in me - one that will wreak havoc when unleashed.

I draw in a shaky breath, through the nose, counting to three before releasing it with more control. Minutes pass, the repetitive motions placating the darkness brewing inside me.

"Aria?"

Taking my eyes off my clenched hands, I look up the white porch steps. Sam stands inside the open back door with a smile that is a little twisted - caught between reassurance and concern.

I take the steps slowly, hoping that Sam won't notice the sudden tremble in my legs. My heart thumps hard and violent in my chest as I take note of the people in the room. The people I called family at some point. People that I still want to call family if they'll let me.

The air is warm - comforting, despite the fact that there was an argument minutes ago. However, a note of hesitation lingers in everyone's gazes.

Rick and Michonne stand together with their arms crossed, almost shoulder to shoulder. Maggie sits on the couch, legs crossed, her hair the length it was when I first met her. Dean stands opposite of Sam and me in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets. Our eyes meet and the slight upturn of his lips eases the rapid beat of my heart.

The last person to join us is an outsider - the same guy who stopped me in the woods and led us to this moment.

Jesus is average height with long hair that reaches past his shoulders - a rich chestnut brown that frames a thick-bearded face with gorgeous green eyes. They're piercing, inquisitive, but in a way that speaks of genuine interest and not searching for exploitation.

He leans against a window, dressed in a pale blue button up and baggy cargo pants. I avoid him, hoping that Rick will ask him to leave. I'm already panicking about having to talk about this. The last thing I want to do is admit all my sins in front of a stranger.

I enter the room, legs shaking as I lean back against the bookcase lining the wall.

The layout hasn't changed much from what I remember. The large leather couch still faces the solo sofa chair, but the room is better kept than last time. All the books that would be huddled in corners are now tucked away in neat stacks or extra shelving. There is also a large dining room table behind the couch. If Deanna is dead and this place is the central command center of Alexandria, then it makes for the perfect meeting table.

I stare at the dark floorboards, a sense of entrapment creeping on me. It's their stares. My skin itches, uncomfortable with all the attention. They want answers. I know that, but god, I don't want to give them what they want.

Let the past be the past, right? I'm desperate to put it all behind me, to erase that year and go on as though it never existed. But that's not how life operates. There is no do-over. No second chance. You live with your choices, and either accept them and how they change you, or you live in a vicious cycle of self-loathing, wishing for it all to end.

"Aria, you're not in trouble, but we need to talk about some things."

Rick's demeanor is cold - the cop interrogating his suspect. It's unnerving to be on the receiving side of that gaze with all the history between us. So much has changed. The whole group is different. I am too. A year is no small gap. A lot can happen to change a person, turn them into someone you don't recognize. They are aware of that, and yet I wonder if they can still recognize me.

My hands fidget at my sides, eyes glued to the floorboards. I hate that my voice sounds worn thin, my nerves obvious when I ask, "What do you want to know?"

There is no skipping this. No more running. It's all I want to do, though. Epinephrine floods my veins, instinct screaming to run while I still can. But my legs won't stop trembling and my chest is tight and I'm so fucking exhausted.

I don't know anything anymore. Who these people are to me, what I'm feeling, who I am - I don't fucking know.

"How many walkers have you killed?"

A ghost of a smile plays on my lips. I'm glad that he still uses the three questions. They help form a decent impression of the individual you are dealing with. Only unlike the strangers of this world, I know these questions and I'm dreading my answers.

"You know I don't keep count, Rick." The corner of his mouth curls up and some of the ice fades from his gaze and easing my nerves.

The others all watch me, listening with eager ears. I catch Jesus in my peripheral. His eyebrows are drawn together, deep in thought with a quizzical expression.

"Fair enough. How many people have you killed?"

My foot bounces against the floor, a steady _tap, tap_ filling the silence. There's a lump in my throat, and I try to breathe but it doesn't go away. I lean forward resting my arms on the light grey chair.

Faces flash through my mind, screaming filling my ears as red taints my vision. My stomach rolls uneasily with those feelings rushing through me once again. This time though, they feel anything but good. I clasp my hands, hiding the shaking, and squeeze tight.

"When?" My question shaky before clearing my throat to try again. This time my voice is unwavering, only a hint of those nerves going wild inside me. "Before the apocalypse, after, or when I was gone?"

"When you were gone," he answers.

I grimace, the amount more than I know. "A lot."

"Define a lot." My gaze shoots to Jesus, his bearded mouth pulled into a tight line, uncertainty written in his features as his question waits to be answered.

The memory of smoke and iron hits me and I clench my teeth. "Enough to be defined as a-"

The word gets lodged in my throat, frustration starting to build. I stare hard at the seat of the chair I'm leaning against, wondering why I can't bring myself to say it when I know it's true.

I'm a monster and yet that word feels wrong on my tongue, refusing to be spoken. It's true, though. It's the only thing about me that I know for certain. The blood on my hands does not stop with evil people. There are the innocent souls possessed by demons. People I tortured for information that I didn't have to. There are the men I killed in the military, the people I killed when the diabolic Mark branded my skin. It's all too big, especially after this last year.

A heavy sigh escapes me. "It's just a lot."

Jesus's lips turn down into a deeper frown. Rick, Maggie, and Michonne share a look, uneasy with the admission. Sam and Dean, however, wear blank faces, unfazed by my words. But they know more than the others. Not much, but they have a piece of the puzzle whereas the others have none.

"Why?" Rick questions and that single word feels like it's my only saving grace. If I was on the other side and doing the questioning, I wouldn't take me in.

So, the question floats around in my head. _Why did I do what I did?_

My gaze remains trained downwards, refusing to make eye contact while blood-soaked earth, that pungent iron scent plaguing the air with a hint of gunpowder fills my every thought. There is no justifying what I did. All the people that have died by my hand, there was never a good enough reason for why I killed them.

"I'm not proud of what I did," I start, hands clasped tight enough to turn the skin a ghostly white. "I don't have an answer to why Rick. I killed to protect before and I kept telling myself that that was a good reason. But the numbers just grew and I don't know anymore if what I did was to keep others safe or because I wanted to."

 _There is no coming back from what you did._

I push off the chair, standing again as I face the people I once called family. This is my judgment that I have to accept. Right now, I'm an outsider looking to join the group. I'm not the sister they fought side by side with. No, I'm another damaged soul seeking solace in a haunted world.

Everyone's faces are grim, my words ringing true for each of us, I realize. Rick glances over at Michonne, the two speaking with simple looks.

Seeing them together is a good surprise to come back to. I'm glad they found each other in the end. They keep one another balanced, pulling each other back from that blurred line we all walk.

Rick releases a low breath, and I finally meet his gaze. His hands are on his hips, words stern as he requests, "We need to know what happened while you were gone, Aria."

Dean shakes his head, huffing under his breath. His glare is vicious, aimed at the ex-cop. It seems the two are at odds all the time. I wonder if this tension is because of the events of this morning or if this goes farther back.

Either way, the heated glare only adds to the tension, putting me more on edge.

"Why?" I ask, hoping to distract Dean but also avoid this whole topic. There's no choice, I know that, but I can't face this last year. How do I tell them something that I can't even think about yet?

"Aria, you're family to all of us. I wouldn't be asking this of you if things were what they used to be, but it has changed. It's no longer just us. You attacked someone today. That someone is a part of something bigger than Alexandria. We trade with other groups now. There's a council."

He bites his lip, scratching at his beard before he starts again. There's a hesitation with his next words, saying, "You were gone a year. We need to know what happened - where you were, what you did, how did you get rid of the Mark? I can't let you keep that to yourself, I'm sorry."

Anxiety coursed through my veins, making me a tightly wound ball. I still need to sort all this shit out. How the hell am I supposed to tell them what I did when I'm not even sure of it? My dreams are plagued with foreign faces and red. I pace a bit, feeling those intense eyes of Jesus on me.

I meet them, noting a faint hint of recognition. My heart races, a spike of anger having me turn on my friend. "Ask yourself this first, Rick. Are you sure you can handle what I tell you? Because you are right, things are not what they used to be. They are so fucking different." It's an icy anger, a sharp bite that stings in the stunned silence.

My breaths are heavy, heart slamming against my ribs. I clench my hands, letting my blunt nails dig into the flesh of my palms. Wide eyes stare at me which stokes the sudden inferno in my veins.

"Aria," Sam murmurs, soothing. Looking over at him, he's calm. The instant rage bubbling under my skin doesn't deter him. He doesn't say anything. Our gazes are locked, and it's unconscious as I start breathing along with him.

How long this goes on for is unknown because one minute I'm thirsting for blood and the next I'm trembling in exhaustion.

"Fuck," I mutter, leaning down against the chair once more, clenching and unclenching my hands as I wait for the fire to die in my veins.

Everything inside me is still so foreign thanks to a year of no emotions because the Mark ate them up. It's like puberty all over again but ten times more intense. I don't know what triggers are going to affect me. I'm stuck on an emotional rollercoaster that breaks the world's record for highest drops.

"Aria," Maggie starts, her southern lilt tender as she reassures. "Whatever you did, we can handle it."

 _Not this._

I sunk to my lowest to accomplish what I did. There's dirty and then there's downright fucking filth and I'm lower than that. Admitting what happened...nobody will ever be able to look at me the same.

Yet, I came here of my own free will. I want this second chance. I want redemption so damn bad. Nothing else in the world matters as long as I can at least try to get what I threw away a year ago.

I glance at Sam and Dean seeing both brothers aching for me. These last couple of months gave them a glimpse into what I became, but they've witnessed the nightmares. It's not enough to come close to piecing together what I've done. However, it gives them an idea - a small one, but an idea nonetheless.

 _Daryl will hear about it._

Shaking my head, I turn my back on them as I look out the window. My thoughts debate one another, bringing on a dull ache to my temples.

Part of me believes that they don't need to know. Everything has been taken care of. I was thorough with my work, with the job I gave myself. This is just for their benefit. But that's a lie. This isn't for their benefit but mine. I have to talk about this. Secrets lead to more problems, and as much as I want to erase this last year, I can't. It's a part of me. Facing it is the only way to salvage the remnants of my tainted soul.

"If I tell you, promise me that it stays between us."

"What about the others?" Michonne asks and I turn away from the window.

"I'll tell them when I'm ready to."

They all look to one another, silently debating. After a moment of silence, Rick nods. "I can promise you that we will keep it secret." Those crisp eyes are unwavering, steadfast and honest.

 _No turning back now._

"You might want to sit for this."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Dun, dun, duuunn. The suspense continues to build. Her big bad secret is about to come out. Do you think the others can handle it?**

 **Hope you are all excited for the next update!**


	6. The Beginning

Everyone sits at the table. Sam and Dean by me then Maggie and Jesus and then Michonne. Rick sits at the other end of the table, facing me directly as the head. My leg bounces beneath the table.

I'm staring down at my hands clasped in my lap, wondering how I start this story. There's so much to tell, and none of it good. The memories are clawing at the back of my mind and I'm glad my hands are clasped so no one sees them shaking.

They wait with anxious gazes as the silence continues. I clear my throat, try to open my mouth, and close it again. Everything in me is fighting this. What I did was never supposed to be known. Yet, I'm sitting here now, back in Alexandria with the people I walked away from. I should know better by now that never means at some point. Heaving a long breath, I force the beginning out.

"When I left, I didn't have a plan. I just knew that I had to get as far away as fast as possible in case you guys came after me."

A grimace tugs at Rick's mouth. "We tried. There was nothing to follow. Daryl spent months out there looking for traces of you."

My throat tightens, chest heavy as I listen to his words. Part of me wants to apologize, but it's too little, too late. Besides, I don't owe them the apology anyway.

I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat, pushing through. "I tried to fight the Mark for a while, staying away from others and only killing walkers when I absolutely had to. I'd like to say that I did good, but that would be a lie."

I grip my thighs, blunt nails digging into the denim. This part is child's play compared to what comes next.

"There were a few angels that I crossed paths with. Demons were nonexistent which was most likely Crowley's doing. After the angels, I thought about tracking down Metatron. It was useless, though, since nobody knew anything. So, I survived. Fought the effects of the Mark and covered my tracks. It was good, for a while at least."

 _If only it could have stayed like that._

My hands are clean now, but Crimson paints them when I look. That's something I wish Cas could erase for me - what my hands look like coated in blood. It's too easy to picture nowadays.

The others sit with rapt attention, hanging on my every word. I chew on my lip, eyes lowered on the table and trace the natural wood grain.

"I never left Virginia," I admit. "The plan was to get enough supplies then I would leave. Go as far as I could."

A snort almost escapes me. How stupid I was to believe that I could just run from the Mark. I shake my head, looking up to lock eyes with the intense gaze of Jesus. There's a small crease of confusion between his eyebrows, bearded mouth turned down in a frown.

"You remember me, don't you?" The look of confusion deepens as the others gawk and their attention darting between Jesus and me.

He stares, the gears turning in his head. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling vulnerable because this is where the real story starts. Slowly, a soft grin frames the man's lips.

"Now, I do. When we first met there was something familiar. I'm better with faces than voices."

"What do you mean?" Sam questions.

"When she showed up at Hilltop, she wouldn't show her face. You wore a bandana, tinted ski goggles, and a hoodie."

"Yeah," I start again, branching off Jesus's words. "It was a couple of months after I left you guys. I had no clue if you had met Hilltop or not. So, I concealed my identity. I couldn't risk news getting out that I was there."

"Smart," Dean compliments. "Although, if Jesus had described you, I'm sure we would have known."

I manage a smirk. He's probably right. Why would somebody go that far to cover up their identity unless it was for a reason? The smirk fades, though, knowing what comes now. Glancing over at Jesus, I know he does too.

"Jesus gave me a couple of supplies. Enough that I could start planning to leave the state." My fingers tap against my biceps, tightening my arms around myself as my legs bounce uncontrolled beneath the table. The memory echoes in my head like a horror movie - the damn _dun dun dun_ of the Jaws soundtrack.

"While I was there, some people showed up," reluctance thick in my voice as I avoid the piqued interest of the others. "They were well off, armed, and they called themselves the Saviors."

All eyes widen, staring at me shocked and my stomach tightens, knowing that they would be surprised. This whole time they were so close to me and none of them knew. They don't even know that I was watching them, aware of their involvement in their own way.

"You know about them?" Rick bewildered with my admission. Not able to look at him, I go back to staring down at the table

"I know more than that."

The memories fight their way forward and I swallow hard, ending the silence because the longer I prolong this the more unbearable it will become.

"Jesus told me about them. Explained who they were, roughly where they dropped off supplies for those assholes. I left Hilltop knowing what these men were like and I couldn't let them find you."

At least that's what I told myself. Now, without the Mark clouding my judgment, I wonder if my intentions were to satisfy the craving of that monstrous brand.

Every part of me pleads not to go on. It physically makes me sick remembering what I did, what I became.

Confusion lines the group's faces before Rick speaks up. "What do you mean? Aria, we took them out. They're no longer a threat," Rick explains and I laugh.

It's a malicious sound with no trace of humor as I shake my head. The sudden change puts everyone on edge, my voice dark and eyes glinting with something the others won't recognize.

"Oh, I know what you did, Rick. I know exactly what you did and you're an idiot. That shit doesn't stink attitude better be fucking gone or I'll beat it out of you. You have no fucking clue how damn lucky you were at that outpost. No fucking clue."

Anger seeps into his shoulders, but I ignore it. They don't know how much bigger it was, how pissed _he_ was and the resources they had.

Another sharp laugh escapes me. "You think you took them out but all you did was stop one outpost, Rick. There was half a dozen more. Some right by Alexandria, no more than twenty miles away. Not to mention, Sanctuary, the home base of the Saviors. The one and only place where you would have found Negan."

He pales, everyone at the table growing uneasy with my blunt truth. I see the renewed fear, the reality of the situation because they don't know. Don't know that the Saviors are no longer an issue because that's my secret.

"How do you know all of this?"

"I told you. I couldn't let them find you," I answer for Maggie. Her nose scrunches, puzzled, and I elaborate, jumping back into the story.

"I went to that outpost, staked it out for a week or so, followed a few of the groups that left. One of them led me to the gates of Sanctuary. It was an old factory surrounded by a fence of the dead. They had impaled heads on sticks, corpses chained to the walls. It was fucked up but it was smart. I did some surveillance. Watched them for a week. I learned their schedule, followed the patrols and where they led. Then I approached them."

Sam and Dean tense, the two seated on either side of me. Nobody will like this, though. What comes next, how the rest of that year unfolds - it's going to change their perspective of me. It has to. There's no brushing off what I did. If I can't look at my own reflection then they shouldn't even be able to have me in the same room.

"It was a patrol. A standard sweep of the surrounding area for any strangers, swarms, the usual. I led a group of walkers to them. They were overwhelmed, unprepared like I planned. I waited and when they were on the verge of dying, I saved them."

"Why?" Michonne asks with a slight edge of incredulity to her words. I don't answer her, not yet at least. Instead, I get to my feet, burning off some of the anxiety as I pace.

Nobody pushes me to continue. They all wait with bated breaths, patient beyond what I expected. It helps, but it just makes this harder because they are so understanding.

 _They shouldn't be._

Running my hands through my hair, I take a second to prepare. "You have to understand that everything from here on out, I did because I thought that I was protecting you," I explain, talking to the floor. There's no way I can look any of them in the eye from here on out. The looks - I don't think I can bear to see them.

Silence fills the room, nobody saying a word, but the gazes trained on me say everything.

 _What did you do that's so bad you have to justify it?_

Letting out a heavy sigh, the words spill from me. "They were grateful, offered to take me back to home base when they found out I had nothing. They took all my weapons away and took me to meet their boss."

 _"The fuck you want?" A deep, gruff voice booms from behind the office door._

" _Got somebody here to see you, boss," the guy on my left answers with a pleased grin._

 _The other man on my right is bored, playing around with the scope on his rifle to stay entertained. Except for the dark splatters of walker blood, I'd say they're well off if their hygiene and decent clothes are any clues. Not to mention, that both look to be well fed and nowhere close to underweight like most._

 _I glance down at myself, noting the amount of blood, dirt, and sweat soaked into my clothes. Not that I care anymore. Luxuries don't exist when you live on the outside._

" _Who the fuck is it?"_

" _New person."_

 _Heavy steps sound, the rustling of clothes being thrown on mixed with soft whispers._

" _Come in."_

 _They open the door, revealing a decent looking office. My eyes land on a pretty blonde, her hair mussed and lips kiss swollen. She sits on a couch, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, but her shirt is inside out. The room stinks of sex, but nobody acknowledges it. The woman drops her gaze when I meet it, red painting her cheeks. I keep my expression blank, taking in my surroundings with leisure._

" _Well, fuck me sideways. Who the fuck is this?"_

 _Finally, I look at the man with the foul mouth. He's rugged looking with dark hair slicked back and a greying beard. The guy is built - broad shouldered and muscled. A slim but fit build with a commanding air around him. Confidence and arrogance exude from him as he sits upright, a sly grin on his lips as his dark honey eyes trail over my body. I stare at the man, uninterested._

" _I was out with my men and we got overrun by the dead. She came out of nowhere and saved our asses, sir. Took 'em out single-handed with a knife."_

 _The leader snorts, a soft chuckle following as he looks at the two men flanking me. I see him looking for a lie in the men's faces. He doesn't find one._

 _Leaning back in his seat, pants slung low on his hips and a stark white t-shirt loose on his wide frame, he rubs his chin and points at me. "You're telling me this little woman took out a mass of corpses?"_

 _I don't miss the hint of impress underlying his words._

 _The two guys nod and the man stands, coming out from behind the desk to stand before me. He's tall, a little taller than Dean. His hands are stuck in his pockets as he looks down at me. I meet his stare, nothing to give away because there's nothing left inside me._

" _Well? Are you going to say anything or are you a mute?"_

" _Depends. What do you want me to say?"_

 _He grins, all white teeth and scruffy cheeks. There's no fear, no hesitation. "A name would be pretty fucking nice."_

 _A beat - one solid moment of silence to give the impression of a debate when there is none. I have nothing to lose. Only everything to gain._

" _Red."_

" _Red? What kind of fucking name is that?"_

" _My parents liked uniqueness," I defend, almost bored._

 _A glint shines in his light hazelnut eyes - a dog who got a whiff of a trail. "You some kind of hippie, Red?"_

 _I cross my arms over my chest. "Do I look like a tree hugger?"_

 _A deep laugh burst from him. Shaking his head, he answers, "Not at all. You look like the kind of woman that likes it hard and rough."_

 _His grin is leering and I glance at the woman on the couch. Her eyes are a defeated grey, like a storm brew inside them. She looks impassive at the guy's blatant flirting as she watches us._

 _The leader extends his hand to me, the Mark purring with delight._

" _It's a fucking pleasure to meet you, Red. My name's Negan, and welcome to Sanctuary."_

* * *

 **A/N:**

◑.◑ So...that happened.

I know that when I talked about a sequel, people were wondering how I was going to do the whole Negan and John Winchester thing. WEll, this is how I did it. Negan is his own dude. I could have made them the same, but it never dawned on me to do that. Plus, the way the rest of this plays out, you'll understand why Negan isn't some demonic version of John Winchester.

We're finally getting into what all went down. I know the chapters are short and I leave you hanging a lot of the time, but it builds the suspense better this way :) Plus, I'm lazy and have a crap load of other obligations and this works for me.

I'm going to be on vacation starting next week. Which means that I may be late in updating. Sorry!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the update! Thanks for those of you who comment and follow/favorite ヽ(^◇^*)/


	7. Please Don't Hate Me

My breath shakes as I exhale. Anxiety continues to sink its poisonous fangs deeper into my veins, unleashing its toxins into my bloodstream. This is the thick of the story. The beginning of an end that I can't comprehend.

Rick sits with his elbows on the table, chin resting on his folded hands. Michonne is on his right, legs crossed with her arms resting loosely on her belly. Seated beside her is Maggie, eyebrows drawn together in fierce concentration. Jesus, who sits across from her, wears the same look, gaze flickering between the others and then me. The brothers, Sam and Dean are mirrors of one another. The two stare at each other, that silent language allowing them to have a full conversation with just the simple twitch of a lip or nod of the head.

I stop pacing, leaning back against the couch. My hands find purchase on the leather and I grip it tight. The white ceiling fills my gaze as I tilt my head up, refusing to look at them as I let my memories guide the story.

"Negan was charismatic, calculated. An egotistical man who talked too much and was true to his word. Sanctuary and everyone inside was wrapped around his finger, whether they liked it or not. He ruled with an iron fist. There were rules and if you followed them, you lived a decent life, I guess. You didn't starve, you were protected, but it wasn't equal. If you stole, didn't do your share, the consequences were not so great. Depending on your crime, you either lost a finger or got a hot iron to the face."

The image of burnt skin pulling off of someone's face like melted cheese remains ingrained in my memory. My stomach rolls, bile teasing my esophagus.

I draw in a deep breath through my nose, focusing on the musty air of a house barely used instead of burnt flesh.

"That's extreme for stealing some food," Dean comments. I shake my head, though, elaborating because it's not the full picture yet.

"The iron was saved for people who messed with Negan's wives."

"Wives?"

"Yeah. He liked women and he had no problem offering them a lavish lifestyle if they agreed to be his wife." My gaze drifts to the brown leather of the couch, picking at the sturdy material. "Most of the women didn't really have a choice."

"He forced them?" Sam growls and I nod.

"Let's say you weren't doing too great at the Sanctuary, you couldn't make enough points to get the medicine your husband needed. Negan would offer a woman to be one of his wives. In return, they could have anything they wanted, like the medicine to help their husband. Once you agreed to be his wife, though, you were his. Any attempt to be with your husband again would result in harm in the form of a hot iron to the face of the guy you loved."

"Fuck," Dean curses, the threat of violence lacing his voice.

"He coerced them," Michonne deadpans and the rage of unjust hangs thick in the air.

I nod, sighing heavily. "Negan was a man of example. Everybody in Sanctuary is gathered to watch that. When he'd go from community to community, if they didn't perform, give half of what they owed, he'd take one person to make an example out of." My gaze seeks out Jesus, meeting the man's eyes. Pain lines his features and I know that Hilltop was not spared that gruesome scene.

"His choice of weapon was a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire…" My voice trails off, thoughts revolving around that damn bat. The weight in my hand, the sturdiness-

"Aria?"

I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away. Getting lost in the memories now will lead us nowhere. "Yeah, sorry." Taking another second, I get a grip and continue. "Negan would pick someone out and beat them to death in front of everyone with that bat. Always random, he didn't discriminate either - men, women, old, young. None of it mattered as long as he got his message across."

The sun comes in through the windows, particles of dust getting caught in the light. I stare at them, letting the others absorb the information while I think of what to talk about next.

Exhaustion creeps up on me, draining me and putting me on edge as we draw closer to the parts I dread the most. It is emotionally and mentally draining reliving all of this. It's also terrifying, remembering what I was - the thing that I became.

"Why the fake name?"

Jesus's question catches me off guard. Of all the things to ask, I'm surprised he focuses on that. However, I appreciate it. The miniscule details give me a break from the larger bloodier picture.

"I had no idea if Negan had come to Alexandria yet. If they used my name out on runs or in a community, you guys would know I was there. You would try to come after me and it would only end up with you dead."

Satisfied with my answer, we all lapse into another silence. The patience they have is incredible. If it were me, I'd be firing questions one after the other. Basking in the quiet, I walk around the room, leaning against the wall by a window.

A soft breeze rustles the leaves outside, making me crave the fresh air. Spending a year in nature has me claustrophobic when inside. Sunlight washes over me as I rest my head on the glass. Its warm touch doesn't ease the frozen dread in my chest like I wish.

 _Please don't hate me._

The anxiety grows more vicious, a constant berating in the back of my mind that I ignore. It's easy to forget when I get lost in the memories, but then other emotions surface, ones that scare me more than the nerves.

That's all I want to ask of them, though. To not hate me because the next part of my story, it's why I hate myself. I'm a monster - a vile, traitorous, deceitful sack of shit. I'm seeking redemption with these people, but the truth is that I'm unredeemable.

"Aria?" Sam lays a hand on my arm, startling me as I'm pulled from my thoughts.

My hands tremble, and he notices, hazel eyes crinkling in concern. I squeeze his hand with a sigh before heading back to the couch to lean against. Sam follows, sitting again in his seat across from his brother. The look they share goes unnoticed by me.

Everyone is curious, their attention solely focused on what I have to say. There's no going back at this point. Crossing my arms to hide the shaking, I burn a hole in the ground with my stare, starting once more.

"At this point, I couldn't feel anything. The Mark drained me of feeling. I was a machine. Fear, happiness, sadness, anger - none of it mattered. I ran off of cold indifference. The people there meant nothing to me. I thought of them as another piece in the game, something to manipulate and use how I pleased. Somewhere I still cared about protecting you guys because my initial plan was to kill Negan and the other leaders. Once I was in, though, there was no way for that to work."

That lump returns, slowly making it difficult to talk. I try for a deep breath, to bulldoze through this as fast as possible, but my body betrays me - trying to cope with all the trauma I've neglected.

"Negan was smart, he would have seen me coming right away if I had done that. And it was big too. Bigger than I ever imagined. So, I took a different route. I got him to trust me, make me one of his lieutenants. A few months in and I was leading the pickup of supplies for a small community. The Saviors didn't question me, and I didn't either. If they asked, I performed. I told them to do something, they did. The Mark was sated, happy with the shit they had me doing, and Negan was on cloud nine with a lieutenant who knew how to run things with efficiency."

Tears burn my eyes, the more horrifying of the memories dredged up. I chew on my lip, letting my shorter hair fall in front of my face, shielding me from their inquisitive eyes. On instinct, I rub my right arm, expecting to feel the raised skin. Instead, it's smooth except for the ridges of my scars.

 _You're not that thing anymore._

The thought is impossible to swallow.

My leg bounces, foot tapping against the floor with a quick beat. The words on my tongue taste of gasoline as I admit, "I killed for them. I did so much fucked up shit for them."

There's a crack in my voice, emotion bubbling up, threatening to drown me.

 _Don't lose it. Keep it together._

But what comes next, I don't know if I can. My bottom lip trembles, thinking of the pain that my actions caused, that they are about to inflict. This last year was not just killing, it was a destroying of the promises and values that kept me human.

Ocean eyes keep flashing in my mind - wide with shock and a flurry of emotions. The tears slip down my cheeks and I draw in a ragged breath, glancing up at the ceiling to avoid the solicitous faces.

"Negan had taken a liking to me. The guy liked a challenge and unlike everyone else, I didn't bend over backward for him. He knew everyone's story but mine. It frustrated him how I acted, how easily I did what I did. I had no fear, unlike the others who cowered away from the man. Control and attention were all he wanted and he wanted it from me."

A humorless laugh floats out of me. I want so desperately to not feel anything again. Being back is everything I thought it would be - depressing and agonizing. There are so many broken pieces and I don't know how to put them back together.

 _You did the right thing by leaving and you know that. They would be dead otherwise._

This, though, what I'm going to admit. I'm certain it would have been better to have stayed away to save them from hearing about what I became.

"I was close enough," I admit, wiping the trails of tears off my cheeks. Monsters don't get to cry over their actions. "I didn't have to, but I did because I _wanted_ to tear him apart. It was just for the thrill."

"Aria, what are you trying to say?" Maggie's pale green eyes are imploring, wanting to take this pain away from me. She can't, though. I'll have to live with this for the rest of my life.

The words are jagged and foul on my tongue. I wish they would cut my mouth up so I couldn't speak anymore

"I became Negan's right hand and his wife."

Bile burns my throat and I move, pacing the room again. I'm too ashamed to face my family, to see the looks of disgust on their faces. How could they be anything other than repulsed by me? I willingly gave myself over to a psychopath. I walked away from the love of my life, became a bed warmer, all for what? So, that I could destroy Negan like I thought he deserved? It disgusts me to my core how low I sunk, how I _wanted_ to betray the man in that manner just to devastate him.

A few moments later, when the burn of bile is not so prevalent, I continue with hollowed words and a sudden dissociation to the moment. "I negotiated with him. Told him that I refused to be locked away and dressed up like a doll to play with. If he wanted me to be his wife then I had to be able to be out there with him, fighting and destroying, like him. He didn't have to agree, but he did because I was unique."

My skin crawls, Oriax's words filling my mind. I was the one that got away, the one who could endure. I was perfection in the demon's eyes and Negan thought the same.

"Was it because you were different or because he loved you? I think somebody who has a bunch of 'wives' is searching for someone who can fit the role he's always wanted."

The rest of what Dean says gets lost in the white noise of my mind. All I can think is, _could Negan love?_

I remember snippets of conversations, vulnerable moments where shit had hit the fan and put us on death's door. The truth comes out while I'm still in the haze, the words spilling out on autopilot.

"I don't know. The guy was all anger and crass. Love wasn't a word I would have put in his vocabulary unless he was talking about his bat or killing things."

Before all of this, though, he could. I know he had a wife and I know she died. Any more than that and I don't know. But, what I'm sure of was that he was punishing himself like I was.

"Did you love him?"

The blood drains from my face at the southern voice that fills the room.

My head snaps to the doorway to find Daryl standing there with his arms crossed, features blank, and eyes guarded. His posture reads casual, but I can still read him, pick up on those little nuisances.

Which is why the gaping hole in my chest ruptures and swallows me whole because the cold, sharp indifference of those azure eyes tells me that I'm not worth anything to him anymore.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I'm back! Sorry, for the long wait. Like I said last time, I was on vacation for the last two weeks. I'm just getting settled back into my routine which means getting back to updating. Enough with the apologies, though, let's talk about this chapter!

So, now you see why Negan isn't a demonic version of John Winchester. Would have been sort of pedophile/incest and I don't want that. Aria doesn't want that either. But now you know the reason why. ALSO, DUN DUN DUN DARYL'S BEEN EAVESDROPPING! *Gasps* How much has he heard? All shall be revealed...several chapters from now...when we get back to Daryl's POV :)

I hope this was a good update for being late! I'm sticking to that two-week schedule I created still. I'm still working on this story while I post so hopefully at some point I can give you a rough estimate of how long this will be. It won't be anywhere near as long as His Mystery Girl. That is certain. I still am amazed by how many words that story is and I wrote it.

Comments make me happy 3


	8. The Monster You Choose To Live With

Rick's already up and moving towards Daryl while the others watch the two of us in our stare down.

"No," I answer.

It cuts the tension of the room, but I don't care about the others right now. All my attention remains focused on the rugged man before me. My stomach clenches so tight it's painful. Our eyes are still locked, the hurt in his gaze making me sick.

 _You replaced him like he was nothing more than a body to keep you warm at night. How many times did you fuck Negan? Gave him the same love you gave Daryl?_

Vomiting no longer seems improbable, but I don't run. I hold that stare, refusing to look away because this is the price I have to pay. The others have no clue, but I know that being back, all of this - it's going to cause them so much pain.

I have no idea how much Daryl heard, how spun around he must be. He has questions, the chewing of his lip and itch in his twitching fingers all tells. They aren't for here, though. His questions are much more personal than what the others want to know. Ones that I don't want to answer because it will only make the pain worse.

Rick goes to pull him out of the room, staying true to what I asked at the beginning of all of this. It's too late for that now.

"He can stay, Rick." I interrupt. "It doesn't matter. I just want to get this over with." My voice is worn, thick with tears and defeat. I hate it.

I avoid Daryl, the man continuing his vigil in the entryway. Rick hesitates, sparring a look my way before heading back to the table.

Again, I decide to stare at the floor. It's easier to pretend that Daryl isn't here this way. Everything inside is all twisted and wrong as the memories roll over me, yet I press on reluctantly.

"That was five months after I left." A small smirk tugs at my lips, thinking of the timeline. "We had an incident. Negan had propositioned a woman, asked her to be his wife. She needed insulin, a costly commodity of the Sanctuary. They didn't have enough points and wouldn't be able to maintain it. She didn't want to be Negan's wife. So, her sister and brother-in-law stole the insulin and escaped."

Sparring a glance at Daryl, I notice his feet shifting back and forth, another sign that he's on edge.

"They came back after we spent a lot of resources looking for them. Like I said before, I didn't care about these people or what happened to them. But when Dwight drove up to Sanctuary on a motorcycle and a crossbow over his shoulders, I decided that I cared what happened to that guy because if he had Daryl's prized possessions then he was the first I was going to kill."

I lock eyes with the hunter, pushing away the malicious thoughts. That night was the first time that I fought back against the Mark. How I made it through that evening without gutting Dwight on scene still amazes me. It didn't matter that I couldn't feel anything, the idea that Daryl might be dead was enough to pull me back to myself for a short time.

"I thought they had killed you," I murmur. Daryl's gaze softens in the slightest but it's gone in an instant.

The room is dead silent now, the others most likely trying to match up their timelines with mine. I still hold that gaze, adding with a gentle smirk, "Then I heard this story about a group of Negan's guys getting blown to shit. I don't know how I knew, but I knew it was you."

At the end of all of this, I hope he can forgive me. It's a tall order, one I'm not putting a lot of money on. Still, I let that little flame of hope burn. Even if he can't forgive me, maybe he can understand why I did what I did. Maybe all of them can?

It's faint, but under that light-colored beard, hides an upturn of Daryl's lips. Not much of a reaction, but I'll take anything.

Getting back on track, I let out a sigh. "That stunt caught Negan's attention too and I knew it would be only a matter of time until Negan found you guys. So, I started making alliances within Sanctuary. Seeing who would follow me over Negan."

"You started a rebellion?" Dean asks, surprised, and I shrug.

"I wasn't stupid. There was no way to take Negan out without help. There were plenty who hated him and just as many who respected him. Trying to kill him and all his lieutenants would have ended with me dead."

"But why follow you?"

"Because I was just like Negan. I had the power, the authority, the respect. Most of the men who sided with me had been outside Sanctuary with me. They knew what I could do, how vicious I was to people. I scared them more than Negan," I answer for Rick. The man's gaze darkens at my words and shame fills my gut.

The truth fucking sucks.

"All right, so you started a rebellion and what, overthrew Negan?" He pushes, now that we're at the meat of the story. Not to mention the part in which they were a pivotal part in all of this.

My gaze drops to the floor again. "Not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that was the initial plan until I heard that a group of assholes slaughtered an entire outpost of Saviors while they were sleeping." The accusation spit with viciousness.

I try to calm the sudden anger but it's hard. Rick and the others made such a ridiculous move. It almost destroyed everything that I had been working towards. So, as much as I try to reel in the simmering fire in my veins, I can't.

Locking eyes with Rick, I scold the man. "Did you realize that a second outpost had been contacted? That somebody escaped that night and came to Sanctuary and told them about you? What were you thinking, Rick?"

His shoulders deflate at the news, realizing the situation he put not only his family in but all of Alexandria.

"Aria, we didn't know there were more. We went based off of what Jesus and the others had told us," Sam tries to explain, mediating but I shake my head, looking to Jesus.

"You knew what they were going to do and you didn't stop them? Hilltop was Negan's golden child! You can't tell me that you guys didn't know how much bigger the Saviors were."

Jesus releases a heavy breath, shaking his head. "I didn't know it was that big. Rick offered to take them out. Gregory-"

I scoff, snarling at the name. "That piece of shit."

"Look, we did what we did because we had to. We didn't know you were doing this, Aria. I had to stop the threat before it came for us," Rick snaps, defending his actions.

They didn't know and that's why I'm pissed. If I hadn't left, I would have been there right alongside them. Which means we would have been fucked if I didn't leave. The group almost was if it wasn't for me.

I pace the floor, trying to work through the crazy mess of emotions that are storming inside me. This was never that hard to manage before. I try breathing in and out slowly, counting backward to ten, but all I want is to smash my fist into something.

 _You're trying to justify your actions. Trying to align your ideals with theirs, but they won't match. You did what you did because you wanted to. You cover it up saying that you were trying to protect them, but it's a lie and you have to accept that._

"Aria, we can stop." My attention snaps to Dean, the older brother standing, ready to take me out of here if that's what I want.

It's not, though. I want to get it all out - to stop feeling like an emotional time bomb.

"No...I just-" I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to get a hold of this roller coaster of emotions.

 _Just get it over with._

Sighing, my mind still a storm, I pick up where I left off. "After your attack on the outpost, I had to move quickly. Negan wanted to attack you the next day. Send a small group out to follow you when you went on a run, capture you, and force you to take them to Alexandria. I convinced him to wait a couple of days, told him to give you guys some time to get comfortable, to let your guard down."

My words make me sick to my stomach. It's the truth, stone cold fact. I didn't care if Negan attacked, not really. All I wanted was bloodshed. Like I said, I was a heartless, mindless killing machine.

"It gave me time to pull my supporters together and execute my plan." Again, my gaze finds the floor, the memories pushing forward, letting me get lost in them.

"Dwight and his wife were helping me. They got others to help with the rebellion. We had a guy who knew how to make bombs. He smuggled us a dozen or so pipe bombs and that night after you attacked, we placed them on the east and west side of the Sanctuary. Anybody who was going to fight with me was supposed to storm Sanctuary and take out those loyal to Negan. That was the plan...or so they thought," I murmur.

The scent of smoke, the burning heat of the massive flames scorching my skin, it all comes back. Their screams echo in my ears, a wave of disgust rolling over me.

"'So they thought?'" Michonne questions, her coffee dark eyes unsettled, wary. She should be.

"I played them, made them think that I was going to help liberate them, but I was using them."

Maggie straightens in her seat, eyes wide. "You started an uprising so they would take each other out?"

I nod, grimacing. This is why I can't recognize my reflection. The reason why I struggle to stand in front of everyone now. This is how I became the Queen of Murder.

"After the bombs went off, I opened the main gates into Sanctuary and let walkers in. Then I hunted Negan down."

 _Gunfire cracks through the air, the roar of the flames deafening as they engulf the fortress. Bodies litter Sanctuary's lawn, blood pooling on the concrete sidewalks. The Mark hums in delight as I enter the factory, falling into my role effortlessly._

" _NEGAN!"_

 _I pretend to run the halls in a frantic haze, skidding around a corner to see one of my followers, a larger man with massive biceps, choking him. Negan's gaze lands on me, fear evident as he struggles to get free._

 _My gun is in my hands, sights aligned, and the bullet leaves the chamber, piercing my follower in the temple. The guy collapses, letting Negan free to gasp for air._

 _I race to him, checking him over. Glad to see little to no damage since it means more fun for me._

" _You, all right?"_

" _Fine, Red," he mutters, standing up and grabbing Lucille from where she was abandoned a couple of feet from him. "What the fuck is going on?"_

 _Shots echo in the halls, screams ringing out over them. "Negan, we need to get out of here. Sanctuary is a fucking lit torch and walkers are pouring in."_

 _The vein in his neck bulges in rage. "No! I'm not letting my fucking people turn on me!"_

 _Inside the monster smirks, grinning at his naivety. I grab his face, forcing him to look into my forest eyes. "I can't lose you, okay? Please, let this one go."_

 _There's a sick pleasure that comes with seeing the stoic man give in. I want to laugh at how I wrapped him around my finger, leading him to his death like a moth to a flame._

 _As expected, the man caves. "Fine. You pack our shit and I'll round up what weapons I can. You got five before I come and get you."_

 _My lips crash into his, bruising as I gasp, "Thank you."_

 _I turn on my heel, sprinting to the room I share with him, grinning a Cheshire grin._

 _The nightstand light is on in the corner of the room, casting ghastly shadows on the wall. Slipping behind the open door, I wait, gun gripped firmly in my hands. My heartbeat stays steady, mind numb to the horrors I'm about to commit._

 _Three minutes pass, only two to go when I hear heavy footsteps sounding on the linoleum floor, Negan's voice booming in the halls._

" _Red, move your sweet ass!"_

 _His shadow creeps into the room, Lucille gripped tight in his hands as he enters slow. As soon as his leg passes the door, my finger squeezes the trigger. A sick grin pulls at my lips at the cry that erupts from the man._

 _He stumbles to the floor, clutching at his right knee. Blood paints his hands, curses spilling from him as I slam the door shut, emerging out of the shadows with my gun raised. Awe paints Negan's rugged features, rage seething underneath._

" _You sly fucking cunt," he snarls between short gasps. I smile, firing a precise shot into the hand still clutching Lucille. "MOTHERFUCKER!"_

 _Fingers go missing, blood oozing from the giant holes. I grab the barbed wire wrapped bat, getting a feel for the weight as Negan chuckles in my silence, gasping through the agony._

" _So, what, Red? You wanted this place, is that it? Why wait so long?" His breaths are sharp, sweat beaded on his skin as strings of slicked back hair fall into his face._

 _I squat down to his level, resting Lucille on my knees. "I don't want Sanctuary, Negan. Others did and I just helped them accomplish that." A snarl tugs at his lips and I grin. "What I want is to break you, make you watch as your hard work goes up in flames. I wanted you to get close to me so that I could rip your heart out. I just wanted to have some fun."_

 _Deep, aching betrayal pools in his honey eyes, but he doesn't let it show in his features. "So, did I piss in your Cheerios at some point? Who the fuck do you belong to, huh?"_

 _Standing up, I tuck Lucille under his chin so that he looks up at me. Negan flinches as the barbs prick his skin, but keeps up the hateful stare. I admire that - staring the reaper in the face with defiance. It's a trait that the demons in hell will love - stripping him of that rebellion until he is a whimpering, cowering soul ready to pick up his own blade._

" _That's the thing, I don't belong to anyone. I don't like sharing this world with other monsters."_

 _My grip tightens around the ash wood bat and I slam it down, crushing his shot knee. The crunch of bone sounds over Negan's scream._

" _Nope, nope," I tease, the enjoyment clear in my tone as I circle the writhing man. A grin pulls at my lips, repeating words I've heard time and again from him. "You can blink and you can cry, Negan, but you know better than to scream."_

 _Those eyes seethe with hate, but I see past that, see he's just as petrified as the people who knelt before him._

 _Again, I squat down, resting the now bloodied bat across my knees. Sweat dots his face, specks of blood mixing with it. I hum to myself looking him over, thinking of all the different ways I can make his last moments on this planet hell._

 _The Mark flares up, making my grip around the bat tighten. I cup his face, Negan's lips curling up in a dark snarl. "It's a shame this is how it has to be. You were a pretty good fuck."_

 _Standing, I take a step back, dropping the demon knife in front of him. Negan's gaze flickers from the knife to me. A fire burns within the man and I know I've made a good choice. It's no fun killing someone who can't fight back. Where's the challenge?_

" _Get your pathetic ass up and fight me, Negan."_

 _For a moment, he hesitates. Probably wondering if I'm serious or not. Seeing that I'm not making any move, he draws in a ragged breath, jaw clenched so tight the vein in his neck bulges._

 _I watch him struggle to his feet, stumbling into the dresser as he straightens his broken leg. The demon knife is clutched in his good hand, the other curled against his chest as it continues to ooze a steady stream of crimson._

 _I twirl Lucille around, stepping closer, and watching his shaking frame. A sharp groan slips from Negan, the dresser slamming into the wall as he collapses against it from trying to put weight on the injured leg._

 _The edges of my lips curl upwards, Lucille still swirling menacingly in my grip while I taunt, "You having some issues?"_

" _Fuck off!" His snarl ferocious as he stands unsteadily on his good leg. He wavers, clutching at the dresser to keep him upright._

 _Lucille rests on my shoulder, my stance lazy while I watch the man draw in shaky breaths. It takes a few more seconds before he stands without the support of the dresser. Determination and hate burn in those dark eyes._

 _I grin, feeling like a starving dog who's pinned down a meal for the first time in weeks. "Here's how this is going to go, Negan. This is your last chance to save your sorry ass. Kill me and escape to live another day. I can't say you'll have Sanctuary anymore because I currently have set the whole building on fire, but you get a chance to live. Fail to kill me, well…"_

 _The bat weighs in my hands as I get a good swinging grip. I hold that hateful gaze, taunting,_

" _I won't make you suffer for_ too _long."_

Nobody breathes. The horror of my words tangible, setting my hair on end. They want to speak, to verbalize the fear that I've now instilled in them - but they can't. I'm not done yet.

The voice that leaves me falls flat, an echoing noise in the suffocating quiet. "He didn't even touch me. I didn't let him. I toyed with him, pushed him to his breaking point and then even farther. He laid on the ground covered in his own blood and sweat, defenseless and broken…"

I clear my throat. The words are stuck, my tongue useless in my mouth.

"You don't have to say it. We get it." Daryl's voice shatters the silence with a softness that I don't deserve. It doesn't belong at this moment.

So, I shake my head, fingers curled into my palms with my blunt nails digging into the flesh. "You deserve to know exactly what happened - the thing that I became. You have to know, you have to because, because-" I suck in air, fighting through the tightness and the burning of my eyes. "I can't stay here unless you know for sure what monster you're living with."

Daryl's watching me, eyebrows furrowed. He's trying to keep that facade of indifference, to wait and pass judgment when I'm done. I see that. Which is why I hold his gaze, my words a haunting preamble of what is still to come.

"This is only the beginning."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hey! So, I suck. Sorry for being late, again! Things have been rough the past couple of weeks. I'm not giving up on this story. Unfortunately, life isn't going the way I want it and motivation can be a bitch sometimes. So, please be patient with me! I will update!

Now, about the chapter! Pretty brutal, huh? Well, it's only going to get worse in the next chapter. Aria wasn't lying when she said it was only the beginning.

Thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing, follow/favorite! It means so much!


	9. Blood On My Hands

_Death permeates the air, clinging to me in chunks of skull and brain. Blood spatters my clothes, slick on my skin. Lucille rests across my shoulders, my arms slung over it. Pieces of its previous owner are still embedded in the sharp wire, dripping down my arm._

 _Smoke clouds the skies as I step out of the factory. Sanctuary is a crumbling stone fortress enveloped in flames. The fire licks its way from the edges of the building to the heart, devouring every inch._

 _I grin, basking in the intense heat. Screams echo around, the groans of the dead following those choked off pleas._

 _Chaos reigns and I stand amidst it as the leader of it all._

 _Breathing in deep, death coats my lungs, and I've never felt more alive. This is hell on earth will be the closest I'll get to the pit as long as this Mark graces my soul._

 _It's a home away from home._

Half the day is gone, the afternoon sun bright and hot on my back as I stand in front of the window. My body is here in this room with my friends, my family. My mind, on the other hand, is caught up in the past. It's soaked in blood, filled with sick pleasure at the pain of others.

The fact that _that_ was normal for me for a year, that I lived like that without any care - it fucking sickens me to my core. Remembering all of the devastations I caused, saying that I'm a monster now seems like childish name calling.

Sam interrupts the delicate silence. "What happened after Negan?"

I give him credit for managing to keep his voice impassive. Sam's always been good at that, though. The whole impartial lawyer - make no judgment until all the facts are laid out.

 _It could be that he knows what it's like to not be able to look at your own reflection?_

Not having the mental capacity to entertain that line of thought, I answer the younger Winchester.

"Sanctuary was burning to the ground. The fires had taken over most of the building. There were still some people fighting for me, taking out Negan's followers. Most were just trying to escape."

I stare out the window, watching the people of this community happy and healthy and _alive._ They walk the streets with smiles, joking with friends. It's peaceful and quiet and _why am I here?_

This place, these people, I don't belong. That's why I left in the first place. Why the hell did I come back here? Why did I let myself do this? I swore that once I left, I would never return, and _damn it, why?_

Alexandria is safe. It's beautiful and thriving with people who are good and _alive._ I'm the fucking bringer of death, how am I supposed to stay here? I don't belong with the living, not after Sanctuary.

Shit, I don't even know if Hell will have me anymore. Even for them, I think I'm too much - too carefree and destructive for what Crowley has created.

"Aria, what happened?"

I blink, my vision blurring as tears roll down my cheeks. God, I'm a fucking monster. The words sit heavy on my tongue, tasting of ash and iron. Yet, I can't make my mouth form the words to tell them the horrors I committed.

They let the silence drag on for another minute. Tension fills the room, nerves turning organs into pretzels. I catch a few whispered voices, but nobody speaks up.

Well, I hoped at least.

"We haven't seen any Saviors in months. Kingdom, Hilltop, Alexandria - not a single one of us has had a run in with them. It's like they vanished."

I flinch at Jesus's words, how they set the stage for me to fill in this unknown. His intense gaze bores into my back, prodding.

"What did you do?"

That single question has the damn breaking. Tears slide down my cheeks, shoulders shaking. The weight of my actions crushing me, almost bringing me to my knees. I try to cover my mouth to stifle the growing sob in my chest and stop.

 _You have to tell them._

My words are a strained whisper, pushed through the lump in my throat. They're watery and ragged but I push out the awful truth, wishing I was dead inside again.

"I killed them all."

All the air is sucked from the room - a vacuum that eats all life forms. If only I could be crushed into oblivion by that void.

The memories race forward, forcing me to relive the greatest sins of my life.

"Sanctuary held a lot of Negan's highest regarded Lieutenants. It also housed a lot of innocent people...families." Drawing in a ragged breath, tears still falling, I persevere. "The fires from the explosion had taken over. It forced everyone out of the building and right into the hands of the walkers I let in."

Screams fill my mind - the grotesque sound of flesh being ripped from bone sending a shiver down my spine. I can still taste the rot of corpses and the bitter taste of death on my tongue.

"I let them turn," my voice wrecked. The sobs rack my body, every word evident of the agony tearing through me as I relive this. "I let them fucking turn," I gasp. "Those that didn't fall victim to the walkers...they, I-I killed them. I bashed their skulls in with that fucking bat."

My hands are clean as I stare down at them, but I see red. All I can see is the lives that I took - feel the weight of that bat in my grasp. They shake and I curl them into white-knuckled fists, eyes falling shut.

"Nobody was left behind. I tracked everybody down. It didn't matter whether they were a threat or not, I killed without thought. Dwight…"

I want to look to Daryl, to say something because I know he believes that man deserves whatever he got. He didn't, though. Not this. Nobody deserved what I did.

Snot drips from my nose, my cheeks stained with trails of never-ending tears. This dreaded silence is maddening. Desperation claws at my throat, wanting to disturb this overwhelming quiet, but I don't want to do it with my words. Not with this story.

The choice isn't mine, though. All of this is out of my control, the memories forcing their way forward, my tongue hostage in their attack.

"All he wanted was to protect his wife. She took her sister's place as Negan's wife in order to save him, and he was forced to watch her be with another man. Both were so willing to help me. Dwight was one of Negan's Lieutenants and Sherry had connections being a wife. They helped bring down Sanctuary."

I shake my head, bile burning the back of my throat. A silent sob rips through me, remembering how the light of the flames reflected in their fear-stricken eyes.

"They found me. I-I was, they saw what I did and... they should have run."

 _Sherry screams, guttural, raw. It makes the Mark sing with delight, my heart beating a little faster in excitement. Dwight's words are drowned out by her vocals. The roar of fire consuming Sanctuary and the growls of walkers don't help._

 _Bullets lie buried in his knees, weapons kicked far from his reach. He's forced to watch while I do what I do best, helpless to rescue his wife._

 _Blood sprays my face, warm against my skin. I swing the bat, Lucille landing with vicious precision against her ribs. The fracture is audible, the wet cry from Sherry a sick enjoyment. Death looms nearby, the gaunt man and his reapers busy with the slaughter I've left._

" _Please, please don't do this!"_

 _I lower the bat, head tilted as I meet the wet eyes of Dwight. He's a mess: tears and snot mixed together and reeking of desperation that will have no effect on me._

" _You don't want me to put her out of her misery? Would you rather I leave her like this? A slow, agonizing death as her lungs fill with blood and she suffocates?"_

 _Sherry's heavy, choked gasps fill the silence in the wake of my words. She wants to talk, lips mouthing words. But, she can't spare the precious air._

 _His panicked gaze shifts from her to me, dropping to the ground as a fierce scream escapes him. He digs his hands into the dirt, sobs thick and heavy. I roll my eyes, shouldering Lucille while I pick at the drying blood beneath my nails._

" _Sherry, baby, I'm-I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, baby," Dwight cries, holding his dying wife's gaze. She lies on her side - a crumpled, bloody heap that barely breathes. Tears spill down her blood-stained cheeks, leaving pink trails._

" _I love you."_

 _A sharp gasp, blood spilling from her mouth. The words never leave her tongue. Her lips move, forming those three words and then she goes still. One last breath escapes, Dwight watching with wide eyes that shine with falling tears._

 _His scream pierces the carnage around us. Broken. A man shattered to his core. The Mark dances in content and I lower Lucille from my shoulders. Walkers draw near with the cries and I don't plan to stick around._

 _Sherry's blood coats the barbed wire bat. I tuck it under Dwight's chin, forcing him to look me in the eye. Hate seethes in his gaze, the fire of Sanctuary reflected there - a perfect image of the Hell that exists here._

" _Just fucking do it," he spits, fists coiled._

 _I smirk, twisted like the darkness inside me. "Oh, Dwighty boy, why would I waste my time when walkers will do a better job?"_

 _All his defiance - the rage and hate, die. The blood drains from his face. He grabs Lucille, palms sinking into the razor wire._

" _Please, please don't."_

 _The plea falls on deaf ears. I pull the bat free from his grasp, grinning at the sharp cry._

" _Beggars can't be choosers. I'll see you in Hell, Dwight."_

My eyes burn, swollen from the nonstop crying. The floodgates are open and there's no stopping them now. I rub the back of my hand under my nose, ignoring the noticeable shaking. At this moment, all I want is a pine box with me buried six feet below. Better yet, set me on fire and let me burn. Hell will make sure I do either way. If I burn, though, nobody can bring me back. Nothing can allow me to taint this world farther.

Apprehension presses in. I was waiting for this moment when the others would finally realize that perhaps they wanted more than they could handle. The truth has a price. For me, I've got to pay double.

Keeping my back to them, I wait, cataloguing the memories - where to stuff them so that they never reappear.

"What did you do after?" Maggie's question holds a frigid coldness that wraps its icy fingers around my heart.

I hang my head in shame, aware that this is my punishment. What I did won't be accepted, not by most. Maybe a few - Sam and Dean because they're morons and Cas, the angel brimming with guilt and duty - will move past this. The others, though, I don't see my stay in Alexandria lasting past this evening.

Another sob almost escapes with the thought, Carl's eager grin and crushing embrace bringing a fresh wave of agony. Coming back was the worst idea.

My voice cracks, broken and weak. "I took out the outposts, ensured that no one was around to carry on Negan's legacy. No one to exact revenge for what happened. Then I wandered. I walked in one direction and didn't stop."

"Then we found you," Dean states, accomplished that they managed the impossible once again.

Before the apocalypse, it would have been easy to figure out where I was. Disappearing from a Winchester doesn't exist. They'll always find you. Bloodhounds with a scent they never forget. Now, though, you're lucky if you can make it twenty-four hours with the person at your side. The fact that they found me was a miracle.

I nod. "Yeah."

 _But I wish you hadn't._

* * *

 **A/N:**

I'm back! Let me start off with yet another apology for updating late because I can't maintain a schedule with this story. So, sorry everybody! I'm not even going to try and tell you that I will be on time next time. Per usual, I have too much on my plate which leads to a sleepy author who then has no motivation to write or edit. Just know that I will update. I came back to finish this story and do you all and the characters the justice that they deserve.

But enough with my apologies! Let's talk about my sweet, violent, broken girl. Okay, maybe sweet shouldn't be there, but let me try, guys. She's not _that_ bad. Right?

We're one chapter away from wrapping up the mystery of this last year. Coming up next: how the Mark of Cain went bye-bye!

Thank you to everyone who continues to read this! This story is for all of you!


	10. The Solution

"You guys ran out of here pretty fast without telling us anything. I'm assuming you finally figured out how to get rid of the Mark."

The tension in my muscles eases with the attention being shifted to Sam and Dean. Rick gives the brothers pointed looks, expecting answers.

Dean sits reclined back in the wooden chair with his arms crossed. Sam sits almost identical except his hands rest in his lap. He shakes his hair from his face, clearing his throat before answering.

"As you know, Heaven opened up after the tablet was destroyed. The Angels are back and under new management, someone we can trust, Hannah. Cas ran into her while out scavenging with a group. Despite everything that has happened, she still believes in us. She gave him a lead on Metatron. However, in return for that information, when we found him we had to hand him over to the angels. So, Cas came back and we left."

"And you didn't say anything?!" Daryl snaps, lips curled back in a snarl.

Sam at least has the decency to look ashamed. Dean, however, meets that icy stare with indifference. "We knew that you would want to come-"

"Damn right!"

"And your anger would have controlled you and ruined our chances of getting information!" Dean finishes, ignoring Daryl's outburst.

My gaze flickers between the two, knowing that there is something I'm missing out on.

" _He's been a wreck without you."_

I drop my gaze to the floor, gut tightening with Sam's words. They gave me a brief overview of everything. Most of it went in one ear and out the other. At the time, I was trying to figure out if I could escape from the two before they convinced me to come back here. Obviously, that didn't work.

Daryl remains enraged, the snarl never dropping. Dean's cold gaze doesn't falter either and the room falls victim to their standoff.

"It doesn't matter," Rick states, authority thick in his words.

He sits at the head of the table with a sternness that forces the two men to drop the argument. His gaze flickers between the two, ensuring his message is received firmly.

"The point is that you should have told us. What if something had happened? Here or on your end? We are meant to be a team."

Dean opens his mouth, ready to argue, it seems. Sam speaks up first, silencing his brother.

"We didn't want to get people's hopes up. Finding Metatron was hard enough, and even then, there was no guarantee that he would give up the information. Spending that long outside the walls in an unknown territory was a risk we weren't going to take with any of you."

A sharp scoff comes from Daryl, the hunter pacing in the doorway. I release a long breath, exhaustion creeping in. There's still so much to discuss.

"So, you found Metatron. What happened after?"

The brothers share a look, grimaces twisting their features. Already knowing the story, I understand their hesitation. What they did, it was risky. It's left us in a situation that can come back to bite us in the ass.

"He didn't know anything. All he told us was some bullshit to save his ass." Dean rubs the back of his neck, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. "Crowley got wind of us poking into the Mark of Cain and decided to pop in and make sure we weren't screwing anything up."

Daryl scoffs, his displeasure evident. It fills the air, clogging the lungs where it seeps into the bloodstream in the form of tension.

"Why?" Michonne questions.

"Crowley was keeping an eye out for me," I explain, words rough from the tightness of my throat. "He wanted to make sure that I wasn't going to come after him or cause any problems."

"And Sam and Dean making a move always mean something."

The faintest of grins tug at my lips with Rick's comment. Sam and Dean wear matching expressions of indignation, but it's the truth. Whenever those two get involved, trouble follows.

"When we told Crowley about Metatron and the dead end, he offered to help."

Like a light switch, the air changes. It steals my breath for a second, the sudden shift sending chills down my spine. Steel gazes bore down on the brothers, none kind.

"What did you do?" Daryl growls, feet locked in place, no longer pacing a hole into the floorboards.

"Would you calm down, damn it!" Dean snaps, looking to everyone. "Jesus Christ, I know our reputation, but cut us some damn slack here. We knew what we were doing."

Maggie speaks up, spilling the truth that has the two brothers at a loss. "But when it comes to the ones you love, you guys don't. You're impulsive. You leap at the first bone thrown at you, and you don't acknowledge the consequences, the repercussions that come down on _us,_ not you."

Pale green eyes meet mine for a short moment before I drop my head in shame. Family means everything to us hunters, but often, we forget that our choices destroy other families too. Sometimes, it's better to let go, no matter how much it hurts.

Somber now, the brothers sit in silent defeat with the blunt truth. But, we're not done here. Jesus gets the others back on track, stoking the conversation back to life.

"What did Crowley offer?"

Sam rubs a weary hand down his face.

They've aged in the last year, I notice. Sam's getting crow's feet, a worn look of exhaustion a permanent presence on his stubbly face. Dean doesn't look much different from his brother, a few more age lines, more demons swimming in those green depths.

"He offered us a solution to the Mark."

"How? I thought Crowley didn't know much more than us about the Mark of Cain?"

"And why would he help you guys?" Rick piggybacks off of Michonne's initial questions.

"The why is simple," Sam explains. "Aria was the strongest being alive. She posed a serious threat to Crowley and his position in Hell. He was more than happy to make sure no one could threaten him."

"Okay, so what changed? What did Crowley know that we didn't?"

Dean sighs. "It's not what he knew, it's what someone else knew. Turns out Crowley's mother is alive and happens to be a very powerful witch. We don't know the details of how she is alive after all these years or how she and Crowley have been reunited. The important thing is that she had a spell book, the Book of the Damned."

The others listen with baited breaths. They know this leads to nothing good. Even if the Mark is gone, from experience, they're aware that any time you work with a demon, a price has to be paid.

"The Book of the Damned has six black magic spells. One of which can cure the Mark of Cain."

"Black magic? Like the kind of magic that comes with a hefty price that could destroy the world?" Jesus' knowledge catches us off guard, but no one questions him. Instead, Sam and Dean nodded in acknowledgment.

"Yeah, but we didn't use the spell," Sam defends.

"You think that's any consolation for what we really did, Sam?" Hazel eyes slide to me in hurt, but it's the truth. I'm tired of this dance. There's no justifying this.

Breathing in deep, I pick up for the guys. "We could go through the whole story and every grimy detail, but what's the point? The truth is that if we cured the Mark, it would have destroyed the planet. Death even made an appearance to stop us from doing so. But, there was another way to rid the Mark, and that's to transfer it to somebody else who is worthy."

Pale faces stare back at me, understanding the consequences of our actions.

"Who did you give it to?" Michonne ventures during the apprehensive silence.

My gaze meets the Winchester's, seeing little remorse. They know the monster we've created now, know that we have damned this already cursed world. Yet, they don't care because it's family.

 _God, when are we ever going to learn?_

"Lucifer. He was the original bearer of the Mark. So, we went to Hell and made a deal with the devil."

Grim faces stare at me, eyes widened in shock. Rick draws in a breath that shakes, his gaze focused on the table in front of him. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention when he speaks.

"You gave the Mark to Lucifer?"

Dean and Sam both open their mouths to protest, but Rick silences them. "No, I don't want to hear it."

The sun warms my back while I lean into the window. "You're safe," I reassure, still not able to look the others in the eye. I keep my gaze focused on the floor, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Lucifer has the Mark, but he's not getting out of the cage. He never left it. The Book of the Damned has two spells; one to summon Lucifer in his cage and one to temporarily neutralize Lucifer's powers. Sam and I went into the cage, made a false bargain about setting him free and transferred the Mark."

"It ain't that simple. Something happened and you ain't telling us," Daryl accuses, and I hate that he can't accept my words and let it be.

"That's the important part. The rest doesn't matter."

"Bullshit. Ya'll gave the devil the Mark of Cain! We deserve to know."

"Aria died, again!" Sam snaps, silencing the room.

I stare at the floor, wishing I could sink down through the cracks and disappear. My skin prickles with their gazes, but I ignore them, especially Daryl's.

"Lucifer wanted a deal. He would accept the Mark, but only if I became his vessel again. We agreed but we were never going to go through with that. Aria transferred the Mark to Lucifer, and then he punched a hole through her abdomen. All to ensure that I would say yes. Rowena reversed the spell and got us out of there before anything else could happen, but Aria was…"

A chill runs down my spine, the wetness of my blood pooling under me, and the taste of iron thick on my tongue all fresh in my mind. No fear in that moment, only relief that I could die without hurting anyone anymore. Too bad death didn't stick, as usual.

"How are you here then?" Jesus probes, unaffected by the news, unlike the others.

"Cas brought me back," I answer, lost to the memories of waking up in Hell with the brothers kneeled next to me with the angel. Maybe they would have let me stay dead if Cas wasn't an archangel. Resurrecting a soul is so much harder when you're a seraph than a leader of Heaven.

Closing my eyes, I rest my head on the warm glass. It pounds from the crying and the rollercoaster of emotions.

Again, silence fills the room.

I'm sick of it.

"That's it?" Rick presses, indifferent to my near death.

Not that I blame him. Death doesn't exist for this group when you have a guardian angel protecting you.

The words hang in the air and I wait, pretending I didn't hear them. Yet, when the brothers don't speak up, a sigh leaves me and I answer.

"No. We stole the Book of the Damned from Rowena. That's why Cas didn't come back. He's working with Heaven to keep it protected."

"Which means what for us?" Michonne asks.

"Right now, nothing," Dean reassures, but it does not ease the group.

"What does that mean? Crowley doesn't help without a reason and you guys stole a powerful book from the witch that works with him. That sounds like _something_ , Dean."

Maggie's gaze cuts deep when she calls the older brother out. I note the new harshness in those pale depths, the firm lines of determination etched around her hard-pressed lips. She exudes the fierceness of a lioness, ready to eat those that dare to prey on her young.

"Doesn't mean it is," he fires back with his own ferocity. "Look, as much as it pains me to say this, Crowley's helped us out for a lot more with no cost. I don't like it because it feels wrong. It goes against everything I was raised to do, but I trust him."

Gaping faces stare back, Sam breathing a long sigh. "We want to stop the fighting between heaven and hell. Right now, with the people in charge, it could work. Crowley is a businessman and Hannah wants all of her brothers and sisters found and brought back to heaven. It's peaceful and we want to keep it that way."

Skepticism paints their features, weary glances shared with one another. It's a far-fetched idea, but for the most part, it's working. Crowley's at ease running Hell like he wanted all those years ago when he took the throne. Hannah and Cas are working to reverse what Metatron did and restore Heaven to the place it used to be. There's no war for the first time.

"You said that this means nothing for now. What about later?" Jesus questions.

The brother's spare each other a look before answering. At this point, after all these years of knowing them, I find that it's an unconscious instinct, that when they are in uncomfortable situations or stressed, they look to each other. As though they need to double check that they're not alone in this.

Daryl continues to pace in the doorway when I spare him a quick glance. Longing tears at my heart, but I ignore it. I don't deserve to want what we had. Not yet, at least. What I did was selfish. Now it's time to let someone else have what they want. He wants me to stay so I'll stay. Beyond that, I have to be patient and take whatever I can get.

"Crowley is aware that we have the Book of the Damned. We stole it from Rowena thanks to his help. Like I said, he likes the peace we have and he knows that book in her hands will only cause problems."

"However, to get the book we had to make a trade. The Book of the Damned for one of the Hands of God. They're objects that were touched by God himself and hold some of his power. Crowley has one, the Rod of Aaron. Cas said that one of the angels, while on earth, managed to find a piece of the Ark of the Covenant. That's what we gave Crowley in exchange for the book."

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose, graying curls slicked back. Slight hints of the color shine through his dark hair, reminding me how much a year can do.

The others all sit with varying degrees of unrest. Sam's explanation didn't soothe the group's concerns. If anything, he added to their anxieties. Not only does Lucifer have the Mark of Cain, but Crowley has two Hands of Gods, weapons that hold the power of God himself.

"What if this is a trap? How do we know Crowley won't stab us in the back or this witch won't come after you guys for revenge? You realize that you're putting a lot of faith in two enemies that have wanted you guys dead from the beginning?"

I stare up at the bright sky, tracing the wisps of clouds overhead. The brief moment of silence ends with a worn breath from Dean. It's the sound of a man who stands on the final battlefield, knowing that after he crosses, he'll be home - safe and done with a lifelong fight.

"For a long time, I thought that I would never stop killing monsters. I knew I would die doing the job, knew that this was the hand I was dealt so might as well make the best of it. There was always going to be another monster around the corner, another dick who wanted to end the world. So, whenever things we're quiet, I sat asking myself the same thing. What's next? When will the other shoe drop because it doesn't just end."

His emerald gaze cuts to Rick, directing his words at the man, even though they apply to everyone in the room.

"You're asking if I think this could work. I'm telling you that I have faith it will. And if it doesn't, then we deal with it when it comes. We did it right this time, though. Trust us."

Apprehension stares back at the oldest Winchester. He's asking a soldier if he's ready to go home. The real question, though, can the soldier leave the battlefield?

Michonne reaches out, her hand gripping Rick's. The two lock gazes, the softest of smiles adorning her face before he squeezes her hand and nods.

"Okay."

One by one, the others nod in agreeance, standing together as they put their faith in the Winchesters.

"Is that everything?" Jesus questions, his green eyes flickering between the brothers and me.

Sam and Dean nod. "Yeah. Once we finished up with Crowley, we made our way back here."

Everyone takes a moment, lips pursed in thought and heads nodding along as they process all the information thrown at them in the last couple of hours. There are still questions, their eyes gleaming with them. I wait knowing that this is far from over.

Daryl's southern drawl cuts through the quiet. "When they found you, why'd you go with them?"

I meet hazel and emerald eyes, the brothers wearing grim expressions remembering our first encounter. Once more my gaze finds the floor, those few nights back with them a stark reminder of the vicious monster I had become.

"I didn't want to."

"But you did. Why?"

"It wasn't willingly, but," a long sigh flutters pass my lips. "I couldn't kill them. I wanted to. The mark told me to, but I don't know. Every time I had the opportunity, I'd stop."

"So, you couldn't stop yourself when you killed hundreds of Saviors, but all of a sudden when Sam and Dean show up, you've got a conscious?"

Jesus's hostility catches me off guard. The venom tinging his voice makes my stomach roll and heart plummet. I knew that what I did could not be forgiven. Still, a small part held onto hope that _maybe_ I could be forgiven for my sins. It was foolish to let that little flame live.

Dean growls his name with a warning, arms crossed over his chest where the shirt goes taut and shows off his muscled arms. The two stare each other down, the bearded man's gaze unrelenting.

My breath shakes on the inhale, crossing my own arms to hide the trembling before my worn words pierce the tense quiet.

"I don't have an explanation. There is no justifying what I did. I killed the Saviors because I wanted to protect you all. Whether that is the whole truth or I just wanted to kill, I couldn't tell you. Things with the Mark were...complicated. There was this haze. It was addictive. Once I gave in to it, nearly nothing could drag me out of it. I lived in it for almost a year - a void free of emotion and when you don't feel, all those conflicts inside don't matter and you do whatever because you can - because you don't _care."_

The truth of my words leaves me hollow. They ripped my organs free and left me an empty carcass of meat and bone - a vague resemblance to my year free of emotion. I keep my gaze lowered, a coward in the face of my judgment.

A few minutes later, Jesus's question fills the room, a hint of disbelief tinging his words.

"How can you move on from what you did?"

Tears burn my eyes, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me. "I don't know."

"Then how do you expect us to?"

* * *

 **A/N:** *nervous laughter* ummm sorry? Really, I am. I have been meaning to put this chapter up for two weeks and honestly didn't have the time. I'm working to change that. I've got way too much going on in my life and I need this back. Writing is my stress relief. So, hopefully within the next month or so things calm down a little bit, and I can spend some more time getting content out.

But what about that chapter, huh? I hope you all liked it. I debated for a long time on how to get rid of the Mark. This story isn't meant to be super long so I didn't want anything complicated like the show, even though I really liked the plot line of that season with the Darkness. Plus, I felt like after everything from the last story and in general, they needed a break. Sometimes really complicated things can have easy solutions. So, that's my take. The main focus is Aria and how she's going to come back from all that she did. I didn't want to take away from that.

I hope you all enjoyed it! I'll try to get the next chapter up sooner! Also, thank you to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favorited this story!


	11. Counsel and Debate

**Daryl's POV**

Sharp pain blooms over the freshly torn skin of my cuticle. Blood pools around the nail bed, bubbling up and threatening to spill down the sides. The sharp taste of iron spreads over my tongue as I suck at the wound. My leg bounces, anxiety licking its way through my veins. A sick poison that has made itself home again in the last forty-eight hours. I lean against the wall, listening to the others, but failing to keep up when the storm inside my head screams.

This day has been a shit show from the moment my eyes opened.

Sleep didn't come last night, not when my brain knew that the love of my life happened to be down the hall from me. Eventually, I managed to catch a few hours, but it was fitful with nightmares. Waking up and finding out Aria and Dean were gone was the cherry on top. Rick was pissed, Sam tried to mediate, and I couldn't shake the dread that had swallowed me whole when I heard those words - _She's gone._

I don't know what I expected after that. Finding Aria on her knees with several weapons poised for her head, covered in dirt and bruises, was not one of them. After the events of waking up, stumbling upon the scene was the kind of whiplash that knocks you unconscious. It was overwhelming. Worst of all, though, was not being able to be a part of the talk.

Rick was right to keep the group small. We all saw how overcome she was last night, and the smaller the entourage, the better. Still, it felt wrong. It left anger stewing in my gut for being left out when it involved my girl. So, once the delivery was taken care of, I headed for the meeting house.

It was easy to slip in undetected. What wasn't easy was staying hidden and listening to Aria tell her story. The way she spoke gutted me.

She talked as though she was a ghost haunted by a past that led to her demise. Unnerving would be polite. It was wrong and I caught myself several times wanting to make my presence known. I managed, though, until I couldn't.

Hearing her talk about Negan turned me green with disgust. Worst of all was the way it ripped my scarred heart in two. Anger bubbled in my veins, indifference turning my face to stone. It was easy after that to step into the room and question her. But, like always, seeing her had my mind and heart waging war. Watching her resign to her fate and slump in defeat wasn't something I was prepared for.

Aria has always been a fighter. Surrender was never an option. Never. Even when the odds were stacked against us, she wore defiance like a badge. The woman who I saw today was a shell compared to the one I knew.

Although looking back, Aria has been a ghost of the woman I knew for a long time.

What came after, though, everything with the Saviors and Dwight and Sherry, it terrifies me. She didn't spare us the details. With that dead tone and her chilling truth, I didn't have to try hard to paint the picture. Each word sent chills down my spine and my heart racing, mind slipping back to the warehouse where she tried to kill me as a demon.

The others sit in strained silence now that Aria has left. Once Rick decided it was time for everyone to discuss, they sent her out to the backyard.

Sam and Dean stand at the back door, arms crossed in defiance with faces of opposition. It ain't helping. Everyone is on edge with Aria being back, and now after hearing her story, they're even more uncomfortable. I can tell this ain't gonna end well.

Resting my head against the wall, I release a quiet breath. Life ain't ever gonna be easy when it comes to that woman.

"I know that was a lot to take in. I'm still processing, but we need to talk this out. It's not just us anymore. We need to think of the other communities too. So," Rick gives Sam and Dean a pointed look, "we are going to have a calm discussion about whether or not Aria can stay in Alexandria."

Dean's jaw twitches, but both brothers give terse nods in agreement. Rick's gaze shifts to me, a question there that I answer with a subtle nod.

He knows what this last year has been like. The hours I wasted searching for someone who didn't want to be found. There was the anger, the depression, the self-loathing, and utter sense of failure that clung to me like a leech - sucking the very life from me. It wasn't until recently, maybe a month ago, that I started getting back to the person that I fought to be. Now, all of that hard work that I put into getting over this woman has been tossed out the window. I finger the chain around my neck as Rick addresses everyone.

"With the exception of Jesus, we've known Aria from the beginning of all of this. When she left us I know it hurt. Having her back and without the Mark is a dream come true, but I need us to not consider the past. We have to set aside our feelings and look at this like any other stranger that walks through those gates."

Not a soul hints at speaking, each gaze lowered while they question themselves - _can I forget all that time and look at someone I cared about like I never knew them?_ It's a question I know I can't answer because despite her story, the Mark and everything in between, I only see the woman that I fell in love with.

"If we don't consider the past and only judge her based on her story," Michonne starts, reluctant in how she holds herself and the pinched look she wears. "Then she's dangerous. A danger that we need to decide is worth keeping or not. Someone who can have that kind of influence over others could mean trouble for us."

Sam shakes his head with a simple, "This isn't going to work." Rick starts to protest, but Sam halts him. "It's not fair to only judge her on what she told us because, for the majority of that time, she wasn't even herself. She was controlled by the Mark."

"She could have fought it," Maggie counters.

"She was protecting us."

"We don't know that," Jesus adds, coming to Maggie's defense. "Aria said multiple times that she doesn't know why she did what she did. She's not even sure if she was protecting us or doing it because it was enjoyable."

The brothers glare at the long-haired man but don't fight back. They can't. Not when Jesus points out the blatant truth.

"She could be an asset."

All eyes shift to Maggie, the woman playing Devil's advocate. I chew on my lip, knowing that at some point all that attention will be on me, waiting to hear my opinion.

"Aria is good at strategizing. She orchestrated an entire coup and overthrew one of the most powerful groups we've heard of. Yes, she's violent. I don't agree with the violence, but that makes me a hypocrite because we murdered an entire outpost. Carol and I killed every person that kidnapped us and even the reinforcements. We have just as much blood on our hands as she does."

"You didn't kill people who asked for mercy."

"Yes, we have," Dean admits, all sharp edges. "Sam was possessed by the Devil. I've killed plenty of monsters that begged to be spared. Hell, they deserved mercy. They weren't doing anything wrong except trying to live in a world against them. I spent years in Hell torturing souls that begged me to stop and I never did. We have done the same things she has, yet you still keep us around. You've all murdered people in their sleep. We're one in the same."

Rick folds his hands on the table, drawing in a deep breath. It takes a second for him to gather his thoughts and then he speaks with an exhaustion we all feel deep in our bones.

"None of us are good. We each have our justifications for what we did so that we can sleep at night. I can see that Aria isn't proud of what she's done, but like I said before this isn't just about us anymore. Do you all think that Hilltop, Alexandria, Kingdom, and the others will be okay with her being a part of this group if her story ever gets out?"

"You're asking whether the alliances would shift if everyone knew the truth of who she was?"

The man nods, sitting back in his seat. He's at war with himself, struggling to be the leader and the friend. "The Saviors caused people a lot of issues. Aria played a part in that. She worked for them, admitted to being Negan's right-hand man. How do we know that she wasn't the cause of some of these group's downfalls? Do you believe that people can overlook that or would they oppose and give us an ultimatum?"

"We keep her inside the walls then. No patrols, no interactions with deliveries. Aria remains inside Alexandria and we prevent others from finding out," Dean explains.

I can't help but snort, instant regret rolling over me because everyone looks to me. Clearing my throat, I tighten my arms over my chest. "We all know that ain't gonna work. She'd be a prisoner then. Ain't no way in hell Aria will sit on the sidelines."

"She won't be on the sidelines," Sam defends. "We have plenty of jobs around Alexandria for her to do that would keep her preoccupied."

"What? Gardening? Building houses? Y'all know her better than anyone. You honestly believe she's going to do that over patrols? She's a fighter, and she knows it. She'll argue that we're wasting a valuable asset."

"She's not the same person, Daryl."

Dean's sympathetic words have my gaze narrowing and hands clenching. A bite lingers in my words as I argue. "She may not be, but one thing that ain't changed is that she's a soldier. Even if she agrees, it won't last. Something will happen and she'll jump in because maybe she has changed, but if she couldn't kill you two, then she ain't going to sit on the sidelines while we're in danger."

A strained silence fills the room as my words are considered. What happened this morning, it wasn't unwarranted. Aria didn't know about the transports. She went out on patrol with Dean and found an armed group. Of course, she's going to attack because that's always who she will be.

I don't doubt that what she did with the Saviors was for our benefit. However, I've seen the power of that Mark and how it changed her. Aria doesn't know why she did what she did, and I think she's too afraid to consider that it wasn't all just for us, some of it was for her own want.

"We're not getting anywhere like this," Jesus huffs. "You all have your points and they are all valid, but we need to start weighing the pros and cons here. That is if you can all live with turning her away."

"If Aria leaves then so do we," Sam cooly states. Surprise paints a couple of faces, but Rick looks more troubled than surprised. He saw this coming.

"You can't leave," Rick orders, glaring down the two. "I know I can't keep you here, but keep in mind that you guys gave Lucifer the Mark. You stole a valuable spell book from a powerful witch, and have now partnered with the King of Hell. If you leave, we can't handle what _might_ come."

"We'll send someone else to watch over you. I let her walk away once and I'm not going to let my _sister_ walk away again."

Tension hangs in the air, electrified and ready to blow. Dean and Rick are ready to bare teeth and lunge at each other's throats with Sam at Dean's back and Michonne at Rick's. There's more to their tension than Aria being back. This has been building for months now, and it may finally come to a nasty head.

"What if she doesn't want to stay?"

Now, that question has a cold chill sweeping through the room and stunning everyone into speechlessness. Even for me, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my stomach drops, and those were my words.

 _"If you want me to stay, I'll stay."_

Aria said she would stay. She's had several opportunities to run, to break that promise and yet she hasn't. I want to believe her. Every cell in my body does, but I can't let myself hold onto that hope. If something happens then I don't think I'll make it. That kind of heartbreak, a second time, will be my demise.

Nobody says a word. Even Sam and Dean remain silent, which looking at the two and seeing their uncertainty tells me that this isn't the first time this conversation has come up between them.

All eyes turn to Rick, sheep looking to their shepherd. Yet, the man ignores his herd to stare down at the wood table.

Michonne reaches over to grip Rick's hand, sharing a simple look before she releases a slow breath.

"Then we let her go."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Hey! I'm sorry for the outrageous wait! Per usual life has gotten in the way, but I'm not giving up on this story! It's just going to take time for updates to come. Part of it is life, another part is motivation. So, again, I apologize.

Anyway, we finally get back to our beloved hunter. I think that this is a tough situation for everybody considering what Aria has done, hence why there isn't a clear decision...yet. You'll find out next chapter if Aria is getting the boot or not ●‿●

Let me know what you think! Reviews are fantastic and great motivation, but also let me know whether or not you guys like where this is going or not!


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